


Through the Eyes of a King

by theangryuniverse



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Death, Concubines, Courtesans, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Historical, King Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Politics, Romance, Slow Burn, Teacher Katsuki Yuuri, The King and I, Victor has children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-03-01 02:21:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 114,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18791056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/pseuds/theangryuniverse
Summary: “He was the first Japanese man that I saw in my life. At first glance, he seemed ordinary in appearance, the kind of man one easily overlooked in a crowd. But in his eyes lay passion, and the force of an oncoming storm, revealing the force of nature that he was. A man not to mess with, but to admire.”These words, written in the diary of the young man that would one day become king of Russia, had burnt their way into the hearts and memories of the people, Russian and Japanese alike. For Katsuki Yuuri had never thought that he would ever leave his home behind. Called to a foreign court to become the teacher of the crown prince, Yuuri soon finds himself in the midst of a world so very different from his own - and in it King Victor the Divine that tolerates no dissent.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> I absolutely love "Anna and the King", the 1999 film version of Margaret Landon's novel. So naturally, I had to make an AU of this. 
> 
> Please be aware that although I refer to Russia and Japan, this is NOT set in our reality's Russia/Japan. I merely adopted the names of the countries to make it a little easier to navigate in the story. The story itself is set in an alternative world. So when you read of the Russian palace, feel free to imagine it in any way you like.

**One**

* * *

 

_ “He was the first Japanese man that I saw in my life. At first glance, he seemed ordinary in appearance, the kind of man one easily overlooked in a crowd. But in his eyes lay passion, and the force of an oncoming storm, revealing the force of nature that he was. A man not to mess with, but to admire.” _

These words, written in the diary of the young man that would one day become king of Russia, had burnt their way into the hearts and memories of the people, Russian and Japanese alike. As simple and plain as they were, they made it barely possible to foresee the impact their meeting and the relationship that consequently developed from it would have on not only the prince, but on the entire kingdom. For they were not just the beginning to his memoirs, but also to a story of love, pain, loss, and reconciliation. 

And yet, they told so very little of the man that had changed the course of history, and whose memory was honoured and cherished to this day. The secrets of his heart and the depths of his soul would forever remain a mystery, taken to the grave by those that had known and loved him.

At absolutely no point in his life had Yuuri Katsuki thought to ever leave Kyoto. The capital was the home of the emperor, and consequently, the home of his family. He had grown up on the vast estate of his father, a high ranking government official, together with his sister Mari, and under the ever watchful eyes of his loving mother. The elite of the empire had frequented their home, introducing the boy to the wonders of the world that lay beyond their horizon. Their stories kept him awake at night, his mind wandering to places far away, mysterious and foreign, But Yuuri Katsuki would have never thought to witness the wonders of the world firsthand - with his very own eyes.

Yet here he was. Yuuri could barely comprehend the drastic changes his life had undergone in their entirety. It was as if everything had changed from one second to the other, not leaving him the chance to even take a breath. Life and its fickleness had swept him off his feet and placed him in the hands of destiny, taking him across the sea and to a foreign land. It stretched out before him on the horizon, coming closer with every hour, its greatness too much for the eyes of a man as young and inexperienced as him. But Yuuri was not afraid of what was waiting for him. It was a great honour to be called to the Russian court, to be so close to the king he had only ever read about, in the very heart of this foreign monarchy.

But Yuuri had always been prone to uncontrollable anxiety. 

Destiny had therefore sent a friend to accompany him on his long journey. His friend stood beside him on the deck, a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to give him the strength that Yuuri thought that he lacked. Phichit Chulanont’s presence was a blessing that Yuuri was immensely grateful for. Without him, he most likely would not even have gotten on the ship in the first place. 

“I heard that the water of the sea sparkles silver and golden in the morning sun in Russia,” Phichit remarked as they let their eyes wander over the coast that had appeared in the far distance. “Because of the silver and gold they use in their architecture. Just like the Japanese use gold to mend broken bowls and vases. I always liked that.”

Yuuri smiled a little. “I’m sure that Russia is just as ordinary as any other place in the world. The stories they tell us are meant to make it sound extraordinary and mysterious. Like a different world, even.”

“But is it not a different world?” Phichit suggested. “It definitely is not Japan. And since you have never left it… well, it will certainly be an experience.”

Yuuri nodded softly, looking down at the water beneath them. “First and foremost, it is an honour to be here,” he murmured, clasping his hands demurely. “The greatest honour for my family.”

Phichit gave him a sympathetic look. “But it is also an honour for you personally, Yuuri,” he said. “You have been suggested for this position by the Emperor’s inner chamber! They chose you for your wisdom and skill, not for your family name. Never forget that.”

Yuuri played nervously with the hem of his sleeve. It was true - they had approached not his father first, but him, the young scholar. They had asked him to serve both realms this way, not his family. 

Only him.

It was the greatest honour indeed. And an incredible proof of faith that the Emperor put in him.

But who was he to deserve such trust?

“You are overthinking things again,” Phichit said, leaning against the railing and folding his arms. “I know you. I can see it in your face.”

“I’m not,” Yuuri defended himself. “I’m… I’m just not sure if I will do well. What if I-”

“No, Yuuri, not ‘what if’,” Phichit interrupted him ever so gently. “You have been chosen because you are the best for this position. And you have been approved by the king. He will trust you with the education of the one that is most precious to him. And if a king trusts you, then why can you not trust yourself?”

It was a question that Yuuri found himself unable to answer, no matter how many times he thought about it. And oh, that he had indeed, so many times that he had lost count long ago. Trust in himself was not something that Yuuri possessed a lot of. He knew what he was capable of, but his confidence did not reach beyond what had been approved of and certified by the highest authorities.

Yuuri Katsuki had only ever dreamt of the world. Being dragged away from behind his pile of books and into the world had never been his plan. 

“You will do great,” Phichit said, linking his arm with Yuuri’s. “And I’ll be with you. On every step of the way.”

Yuuri sighed and leant against his friend, allowing himself to rest his eyes for a bit. “I’m grateful that you’re with me, Phichit,” he said quietly. “I really am.”

Phichit chuckled. “And if the king’s an idiot, I’ll kick his ass.”

“Phichit!”

 

* * *

The ship reached the harbour of the capital in the early hours of dawn. 

Where Kyoto would lay asleep still, the capital of Russia was awake. The harbour was crowded with people, the pavement not even visible under the countless feet that rushed towards the ships that had landed at the piers. Their ship was far from being the only one to arrive at this hour, for the Russians welcomed trade and visitors from several different countries. Japan was just one of many, albeit also the realm the Russian kingdom had the oldest and strongest connections with. Therefore, it was no surprise that the moment the ship cast its anchor, the sailors and harbour workers rushed towards the pier, offering their help.

Yuuri checked his baggage one last time. It was not much that he had packed for the journey, merely clothing and a few personal belongs. Anything else would be provided for them by the Russian court, so he had been told, and not trusting the king’s word would have made him a terrible guest from the very beginning. Phicht, on the other hand, had not been as confident in the king’s words. His luggage was considerably larger than Yuuri’s, but the cheerful Thai did not seem to mind as he shoved the boxes into the waiting workers’ arms. 

“We are on time, I think,” Yuuri murmured, glancing at the pocket watch that his father had gifted him before his departure. “Phichit, do you have everything? Where is Otabek?”

“Right here,” Phichit chirped, reaching behind himself and pulling the boy in question into view. 

“Phichit, you should not make him carry your stuff,” Yuuri sighed, but Otabek had already followed the harbour workers down the plank to the pier and towards the waiting carriages. 

“I certainly didn’t ask him to,” Phichit defended himself and followed the boy. “Are you sure you want to take him with you?”

“Well, we certainly cannot leave him here on this ship,” Yuuri replied and carefully stepped onto the plank that led down to the pier. 

“You took pity in him,” Phichit said.

“Yes, maybe.” Yuuri carefully set foot on the pier and adjusted his clothing as he waited for Phichit to join him. “But it is better for him to be in the care of an adult that does not exploit and force him into child labour, just because they believe him to be stupid.”

Phichit skipped the last few steps, jumping onto the pier and startling the sailors around them. “He may not be stupid, but he’s mute,” he said, brushing nonexistent dirt from his trousers. “How can you know what is going on in that head of his?”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “How can I know what is going on in yours?”

“Touché.”

They made their way down the pier towards the pavement where a bunch of carriages were already waiting for them. A large man with a bearded face stood by the first carriage, greeting them with a solemn nod as if he’d come to deliver the worst of news. 

“Katsuki Yuuri?” He asked in deep voice, mispronouncing the name terribly, but Yuuri had come to expect that from foreigners. 

“Yes,” he answered in Russian. “And my companion, Phichit Chulanont.”

The man nodded, glancing at the boy behind them. “He is with you?” He asked, gesturing at Otabek. “I have a carriage for two. Not three.”

“He is our assistant,” Yuuri said. “I must insist that he comes with us.”

“He surely can squeeze in between us,” Phichit suggested, but Otabek had already climbed on the back of the carriage that had been filled with their belongings.

The man huffed. “At least he can sort himself out,” he muttered. “Get in the carriage, then. I will take you to the palace.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Yuuri said politely and bowed, but the man had already turned away to get to his horse. 

“Different customs, eh,” Phichit remarked and climbed into the open carriage, inspecting the vehicle curiously. “Are you alright up there, Otabek?”

The boy nodded, making himself comfortable on top of the boxes. 

“Hold on tight, yes?” Yuuri said with a small smile. “I’m sure it won’t be long.” He then settled beside Phichit in the carriage, holding his travel bag close to his chest as the carriage finally began to move, shaking them thoroughly as they moved across the cobbled streets and into the bustling life of the Russian capital.

The city that spread out in front of them was nothing like the things Yuuri had always known. The capital was loud and bustling with life, its men, women, and children inhabiting every corner of it. Like Kyoto, there were big and narrow roads, some of them better kept than others, with buildings large and small, delicious smells coming from every corner, the scent of foreign spices filling the air. 

“How is the name of this city pronounced again?” Phichit called through the noise, holding firmly onto the carriage as they rushed through the streets. A large group of people, mostly children and teenagers, had begun to run after their carriages, eager to catch a glimpse of the foreign visitors. 

“I haven’t mastered it yet!” Yuuri called back. “I have heard that if you mispronounce it, you fall from favour instantly. We should not risk that.”

“This is madness!” Phichit exclaimed, and Yuuri was not sure whether he meant the superstition or the state of the street they were currently driving down. The driver was not very good at avoiding the holes in the middle of the lane, and Yuuri turned around to check if Otabek was still there, fearing that the boy might have fallen off the boxes. But Otabek held on tightly, entirely unfazed by the rough transport. 

Otabek had probably experienced worse, Yuuri thought. 

“Is this even the correct route?” Phichit asked loudly. “Yuuri, my Russian is too bad to ask!”

“I don’t think that anyone will hear us!” Yuuri called through the noise. “And besides, I can’t see a thing! That procession in front of us is blocking the view!”

“As if that would change a thing!” Phichit laughed and shrieked as their carriage drove through yet another hole, this time a large puddle, and the water splashed everywhere. “At least we’re definitely awake now!”

That Yuuri could not deny, although he would have hoped for a more comfortable journey to the palace. But he did not complain. It was a different country, with different customs, and they could not expect to be treated the way the court in Kyoto would have welcomed any foreign guests. 

Russia was a place Yuuri only knew about from books. Every now and then, the court would welcome Russian delegations, and sometimes, his father would welcome one or two of them to his home. Yuuri had started to study Russian at the age of fifteen, upon the request of the Emperor who had suggested a scholarly career for him. In many ways, Yuuri was indebted to his sovereign, and he knew that it was a great honour to be even noticed by him. 

The Emperor trusted him so much that he even suggested him as a teacher for the Russian prince. Of course there was a lot more to the position than the teaching assignment. He would be a tutor, a confidante, a cultural ambassador, even. 

There was a lot of weight resting on the shoulders of Yuuri Katsuki, and that terrified him more than anything else.

“I think it’s over there!” Phichit called suddenly, pulling Yuuri out of his thoughts. 

A massive gate had come into view, its ornaments silver and gold, proudly displaying the wealth of the kingdom and separating the world from what the Russians called ‘The Divine’. 

Upon their arrival, the guards standing in front of the gate stepped aside and pushed back the crowd that had formed behind their carriages, making way as the massive doors were opened and welcomed them into the very heart of the monarchy.

The outer courtyard stretched far beyond their view, lined by massive walls and big and small buildings that constituted the outer chambers of the royal palace. Nature and architecture seamlessly blended into one another, greenery taking up the space that had not been built on. A temple of some sort made up the largest part of the outer courtyard, with monks and priests sitting in front of it, performing rituals that the visitors had yet to understand. Government officials of all ranks scurried from one end to the other, bustling about with heavy books and documents kept firmly under their arms. 

In many ways, it was like the court in Kyoto, but so very different at the same time. It was like nothing Yuuri had ever encountered before, fearing to overwhelm him in an instant. 

Only Phichit’s reassuring hand on his own kept him from breaking out into anxiety again.

The carriages stopped in front of a large, imposing building that had been ornamented with gold and silver at its gates, just like the entrance to the ‘Divine’ itself. Servants rushed towards them to help them out of the carriages, even helping Otabek to climb down from his seat on top of the boxes. The boy brushed the dirt from his trousers and then immediately went to help them, only moving backwards when the servants shoved him aside ever so gently.

A man in fine clothing approached them the moment they had come to stand on the pavement. Yuuri noticed that his hand rested on the hilt of a sword. From what he knew, the man was a servant of the state - not a minister, but someone working for a high official.

“Good morning, and welcome to the Palace,” he said in a thick Japanese accent to Yuuri after bowing to him briefly. “The King Advisor will see you now.”

“Of course,” he said, trying to hide his amazement at the man’s language skills. In Kyoto, he had been told to prepare himself for a country where almost no one would speak his language, and therefore, Yuuri had studied Russian every single day before his departure. Therefore, the man’s short welcome in Japanese was a pleasant surprise, and Yuuri felt a little safer as he followed the man into the depths of the palace, Phichit and Otabek following close behind.

The palace was a maze of endless corridors and hallways, centering around small parks and gardens with lush greenery and flora that none of them had ever seen before. The people they came across on the way studied them curiously as they moved out of their way, some of them whispering behind raised hands. Yuuri suspected that they had probably never seen a Japanese or a Thai before and were therefore curious. Japanese courtiers would not have been any different. Yet, he kept his gaze lowered and respectful to not give them any opportunity to reprimand him for any potential breaks of protocol. 

They kept going, and just as Yuuri began to wonder where their journey would come to an end, they reached a set of open doors. The large room that followed seemed to be a study of some sort, with shelves lining the walls and a few desks in front of them, each of them occupied by a scribe. On the other end of the room, however, sat a man that, presumably, had to be the King’s Advisor. He was tall, with blonde and brown hair, styled in a way that Yuuri had seen on foreigners before, cut short at the sides and kept longer on the top. He wore a dark red robe, ornamented with a fine, delicate pattern that only became visible with movement. His long, slender fingers brushed over the letters of the document that he studied through his glasses, while another man knelt on a cushion in front of him and spoke to him in a hushed voice.

The man that had welcomed them left them by the door and approached the King’s advisor. A few hushed words were exchanged before the man’s eyes eventually found Yuuri, studying him from head to toe.

“This reminds me more of a library than of a study,” Phichit whispered as the other man returned to them once more. 

“His Excellency asks you to come closer. Only you,” he added briefly and addressed Yuuri directly as all three of them took a step forward.

Phichit nodded, taking Otabek by the shoulder. “We will wait here.” He gave Yuuri an encouraging smile and then retreated into the shadow by the door with the boy.

Yuuri took a deep breath and followed the state servant to the other end of the room where the king’s advisor sat at his desk, the style of it low like a Japanese table. Perhaps, Yuuri wondered, they had more in common that they thought. 

The man knelt down a few feet away from the desk, bowing his head once more as he introduced Yuuri to the man. “His excellency, Lord Giacometti.” Then, he addressed the advisor - in a language that Yuuri did not recognise.

“Der Gesandte Japans, Yuuri Katsuki, Eure Exzellenz.”

Lord Giacometti looked him up and down for a moment before returning to his papers. 

“Hat er Freunde oder Familie hier in Russland?” He asked, his eyes ghosting over the letters.

“Do you have friends or family here in Russia, Sir?”

Yuuri blinked in surprise at the sudden question. “N-no, I don’t know anyone here,” he answered truthfully, standing a little straighter as if to brace himself for the coming questions.

A translation was given to Lord Giacometti. 

“Ist er verheiratet?”

“Are you married, Sir?”

Yuuri frowned. “No, I’m not married,” he replied, wondering what all of this was about as his answer was translated for the advisor. No one had ever asked him about his marital status, not even the Emperor. 

Lord Giacometti raised an eyebrow as he looked him up and down and spoke again.

“War oder ist er verlobt?”

“Were you or are you engaged, Sir?”

Yuuri stared at him. “N-no, I… I was never and I am not engaged.”

Lord Giacometti patiently listened to the translation his servant gave him before speaking again.

“Why not?” The servant translated.

Yuuri frowned deeply. “I- I do not understand why this is something his lordship needs to know. Tell him that there is no need to ask me questions of such personal nature.”

The servant stared at him with wide eyes, before looking up at his master anxiously, as if he were expecting a deadly blow.

Lord Giacometti, however, merely took off his glasses and rested his hand on his lap. 

“In Russia,” he began in perfect Japanese, “it is custom to ask questions of personal nature first. It is polite. To show one’s conversational partner respect, and attention.”

A cold shiver ran down Yuuri’s spine as he realised that the man had only played with him by pretending not to understand him - certainly to trick him into saying something that would justify sending him back without offending the Japanese court directly. And he had walked right into his trap.

“I…” Yuuri bowed immediately. “Please forgive me. I did not mean to offend you, Lord Giacometti.”

To everyone’s surprise, the king’s advisor laughed softly. “None taken,” he said and leant forward on his cushion in an almost jovial manner. Now Yuuri could see his face properly; the chartreuse eyes that sparkled in genuine glee. “I had to get accustomed to this kind of conversational exchange myself, as I’m not a native Russian either. It can appear rather intrusive, I have to admit that. But you did very well, Katsuki-sama.”

Lord Giacometti put on his glasses again, his eyes searching for Phichit and Otabek who were still standing by the door. “Please, come closer. You must be Phichit Chulanont. The scribe that was promised to join our librarians. And…?” He studied Otabek curiously. 

Yuuri cleared his throat. “His name is Otabek. He worked on the ship that took us here, but I couldn’t leave him there. I hope that is not a problem.”

Lord Giacometti made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Of course not. One more, one less, it does not matter. His majesty will call for you soon. Until then, make yourself at home in your quarters. A servant will take you there.”

And with that, the audience with the king’s advisor had come to an end. The state servant that had taken them there rose from the floor and gestured at the door, expecting them to follow him. Yuuri quickly bowed and thanked the advisor, but Lord Giacometti had already returned his attention to his papers again.

They had indeed come to a place very different from home.

 

* * *

The quarters the palace provided for them turned out to be the most luxurious rooms that Yuuri had ever seen. 

From the railings of the stairs that led up to the heavy, with intricate carvings ornamented doors to the tapestry, furniture, and decoration - it was more sumptuous than anything that Yuuri, Phicht, and Otabek had ever seen before, and they needed more than just a moment to take in their new surroundings. 

“Are you… sure these are our rooms?” Phichit asked slowly as he tentatively stepped into what seemed to be a drawing room. “They’re so…”

“Huge?” Yuuri suggested faintly. “Yes, they are… impressive indeed.”

Otabek had frozen in the doorway, shyly looking around and most certainly feeling very much out of place. 

“Well then,” Phichit sighed happily. “We’ll certainly feel at home here, don’t you think, Otabek?”

Yuuri looked at the boy, watching him tentatively step into the room as if it was a forbidden place for him. He would warm up to their quarters eventually, he was sure of that. All the boy needed was time to adjust. They all did.

Their apartment consisted of four different rooms: A bedroom for Yuuri, another one for Phichit, a living room, and a small bathroom. Upon request, another bed was brought to their apartment, and Otabek received his very own little corner in Phichit’s bedroom where he could find some peace and quiet. Yuuri, being the teacher, had to have a room to his own - or so Phichit had decided. And indeed, it was a nice room. There was a framed bed in the center of it, with a soft mattress and covered in so many pillows that Yuuri had to actually search for the upper end of the duvet. A desk by the window offered him some space to work, including a spectacular view of the garden next to their quarters. Food would be brought to them three times a day from the palace kitchens, and servants would take care of the state of the apartment and their clothing. 

The only thing they had to focus on themselves was the tasks they had been trusted with. 

Phichit would be a scribe, documenting courtly life and learning more about the Russian court and culture from reading and experience.

Yuuri would be the teacher of the crown prince.

It was a duty and honour he had never asked for, but accepted nonetheless. The Emperor and the King put their faith in him, regarding him as a suitable choice for such an important task. Before their departure, Yuuri had religiously studied what would be expected of him, trying to become an expert in every discipline he was supposed to teach, determined not to disappoint anyone. For if he failed, he would put his entire home country to shame, and he would be regarded as a disgrace for the rest of his life.

The weight resting on his shoulders was a heavy one, and it threatened to crush him whenever he was left alone with his thoughts. Late at night, when the rest of the world was asleep and he was not. Yuuri would toss and turn in his bed, fighting the destructive thoughts that crept into his head and accused him of being a fraud, a failure, a disgrace to both his family and country. It was something he had gotten used to, for his anxiety followed him wherever he went, every single day, at every hour, in every moment. 

It was a part of his existence, and Yuuri had soon realised that the only thing he could do about it was to embrace it.

It was good that he had not travelled to Russia alone. Phichit knew him like no other, and kept him distracted whilst they waited for their audience with the king. But days passed, and the king did not call for Yuuri. It was as if they had come uninvited and unexpectedly, and Yuuri slowly began to doubt the sincerity of the king’s request for him to come and teach. It began to rain a few days later, almost flooding their apartment, postponing a potential audience with the king once more. The only one to get busy straight away was Phichit, who had been introduced to the circle of scholars in the royal library right on their second day. Otabek accompanied him, helping out here and there, as Yuuri did not want to keep the boy confined to their quarters. 

As the rain stopped, Yuuri sought an audience with the king’s advisor once more, but Lord Giacometti only briefly talked to him in the hallway, assuring him that the king would call for him soon. 

And so, Yuuri forced himself to remain patient.

Taking walks through the vast palace gardens was a welcome distraction, allowing him to take a closer look at the foreign surroundings in peace and quiet. Hardly anyone ever spoke to him during his little excursions, and Yuuri assumed that it was either the Russian politeness or a lack of communication skills that kept them from approaching him. Maybe, he thought at some point, they assumed that he did not speak Russian at all, and therefore kept their distance to him. 

Sometimes, Phichit and Otabek joined him on his walks. Yuuri was glad to see that the boy seemed to adjust to his new life, away from the ship and dangerous labour that could have easily broken his spine. The boy was a mystery to him nonetheless, and not just because he did not speak. Yuuri was certain that Otabek was merely selectively mute, and as bright as any child, for he was sure he had heard him curse under his breath at some point. The captain of the ship that had taken them to Russia had not known much about the boy, only that he didn’t have any parents and that he was hard-working and grateful for a hot meal.

But a ship was hardly an appropriate place for an orphan. 

Yuuri paused on his way through the garden, realising that he had ended up in a part of it that he’d never entered before. His surroundings were of a lush green, with plants growing as high as people, wrapping themselves around any object they could reach. A few people were talking in the distance in rapid Russian, but Phichit was nowhere to be seen. He had probably lost him a few corners prior. 

Yuuri turned around and headed back to where he had come from, trying not to fall on the slippery ground after the rain. Not every path in the gardens had been paved or gravelled, making it sometimes difficult to keep track of one’s way. Yuuri came to a clearing in what could only be called a miniature forest, looking around in confusion as he heard Phichit call for him, and he headed into the direction of his friend’s voice in relief. 

“There you are,” Phichit chuckled as he came into sight and linked his arm with Yuuri’s, pulling him out of the little jungle. “I told you that this garden is a literal maze-”

The moment they stepped out into the sunlight they heard the metal screech of swords drawn from their sheaths and angry shouts in Russian as the royal guard surrounded them, blocking them from the view of the person they were trying to protect. 

Phichit shrieked and immediately dropped to his knees, bowing his head.  

But Yuuri remained where he was, frozen in shock, unable to move as the person behind the guards moved into view. “What is going on here?” The man stepped out from behind the wall of guards and swords, and Yuuri looked into the brightest pair of blue eyes that he had ever seen.

The man that stood before him should not have been real - he seemed to flawless, too perfect, too well sculpted to be an actual human being, and not a piece of art. Bright, almost silver hair framed his incredibly tender face, whose eyes looked down at Yuuri with an intensity that would have had the power to destroy mountains.

They had run into the King of Russia.

Victor, the Divine.

Commotion behind Yuuri announced the arrival of yet another person. A hand on his shoulder yanked him out of the way, just before Lord Giacometti could run into him as he dropped to his knee in front of the other man.

“Was hat das zu bedeuten, Christophe? Wer ist das?” The king spoke in the same language Lord Giacometti had interrogated Yuuri in, albeit sounding not as elegant as him. 

“Das ist Yuuri Katsuki, Eure Majestät, der japanische Lehrer, nachdem Ihr geschickt habt, und sein Gefährte, Phichit Chulanont.” 

Yuuri could only make out their names in the spate of words that washed over him. Only then the extent of what he had done began to dawn on him, and what was all of this was about. They had, accidentally, ended up in a part of the palace gardens that they were not supposed to enter. And on top of that, he had broken the most sacred part of the Russian protocol - that every subject, regardless of rank, name, or status, had to kneel before the king.

And yet, his body refused to obey.

The king’s gaze wandered over him before returning to his advisor. 

“What is this about, Giacometti?” The king asked impatiently, this time in Russian. “Has he not been informed about the protocol?”

“Forgive me, your majesty. He has been instructed, but-” The king shut him up with a dismissive gesture of his hand, his gaze settling on Yuuri for good.

The moment their eyes locked, Yuuri knew that he depended entirely on the king’s mercy if he wanted to make it back to Japan alive and in one piece.

The king clasped his hands behind his back, slowly circling Yuuri like a lion as he studied him from head to toe. Only then Yuuri was able to take in the king’s appearance in its magnificent entirety - from the fine, silken robes that he wore to the filigree golden headdress that framed his face almost like a crown. But even without those ornaments he was an impressive appearance, if not only for his bright blue eyes that seemed to look right into Yuuri’s soul.

“You are a teacher?” The king asked suddenly, startling Yuuri so much that he didn’t immediately realise that the king was speaking in Japanese.

“Y-Yes, your majesty,” he replied nervously, trying to appear braver than he was and instinctively bowed in the fashion of his own people. 

The king came to stand in front of him again, his gaze critically taking in Yuuri’s entire demeanor. “You don’t seem like someone with enough experience of life to have the necessary authority,” he said. 

Before Yuuri could even muster the courage to reply to such an accusation, the king had turned around and walked away, leaving them behind. 

Yuuri blinked in confusion, wondering if he had actually survived or if the guards of the king had already slain him and sent him to the afterlife.

“His majesty hasn’t dismissed you yet!” Someone hissed next to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Yuuri winced, looking up at the king’s advisor, who had gotten to his feet again. “Follow him! Quick!”

“Yuuri, go!” Phichit squeaked and pushed him forwards, breaking the spell that seemed to have fixated Yuuri’s feet to the ground, and he stumbled after the king, hurrying to catch up. Even from behind the king was an impressive sight. Tall and lean, his silver head of hair shining brightly in the afternoon sun as he marched through the garden with the authority that only a king could possess. He did not wait for Yuuri as he walked, merely looking at him briefly as soon as the Japanese had come into view again. Yuuri kept a respectful distance to him, walking behind him instead of right next to him, remembering what he had learnt about the rules of the Russian court whilst still at home. 

“I have been busy these last few days,” Victor said, his Japanese accented, but smooth and elegant enough to show that he had been studying the language for quite some time. “I do not have much time for leisure. Or to take care of all things that require my attention with equal dedication.”

Yuuri didn’t answer, now knowing better than before. The last thing he wanted was to ruin it again, to offend the king even more, now that he had, apparently, barely saved his head. For some reason, the king had taken little offense in him breaking the protocol and not falling to his feet - but if the rumours about the king’s fickleness were true, his temper could change to the contrary any second.

“But I was told to put my faith in you,” the king continued. “And I do intend to keep the promise that I gave your sovereign. I wish to see if you are indeed the man they claim you are. So I will put you to a test.” 

They stopped at what seemed to be the end of the garden, in front of a large gate that was guarded by soldiers. 

“Together with my son you will now teach  _ all  _ of my children.”

Yuuri stared at him with wide eyes, but Victor did not even seem to notice. And then, with a nod of his head, he ordered the guards to open the gates.

The world that lay beyond the gates was the most holy of the Divine, the one place that, as Yuuri knew, would forever remain forbidden to anyone that did not have the king’s trust. It was the very heart of the palace, the centre of the monarchy, where its past, present, and future resided.

It was a lush paradise, green and spacious and fruitful, made for the pleasure and comfort of those the monarch held most dear. The garden seemed to surround the entire southern wing, an architectural masterpiece that blended in seamlessly with what Yuuri had seen of the palace so far. And yet, it was so very different at the same time, representing not status and power, but homeliness and comfort. It was a place of refuge for the man sitting on the throne, and the sanctuary within the Divine.

A little stream wound its way through the spacious garden, entering a rather large pond on the other side of a small bridge, just as ornamented and magnificent as everything else around them. A few ducks were bathing underneath it, quacking away happily with their yellow ducklings. Yuuri spotted a few cats, each of them resting in a different spot. None of them could even be bothered to raise their heads at the sound of opening doors, their ears merely twitching before curling up into another position again. And in the distance, in the shadows of the trees that shielded them from the unforgiving afternoon sun, played the king’s children. The women sat together in small circles on low tables, chatting away happily while keeping an eye on the excited boys and girls. 

“My family,” Victor said lightly, descending the few steps into the sanctuary. “Eleven wives. Fifteen concubines and courtesans. Twenty-two sons and daughters. At the moment, two more are on the way. Each of them my pride and joy. Each of them my hope for the future.”

Yuuri was at loss for words at the king’s declaration, who spoke about the number and size of his family with such ease as if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if it was not extraordinary at all.

“I know what you are thinking,” the other man said suddenly, turning his head to meet his gaze with a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Not as many as the Chinese emperor. But  _ he  _ did not spend years in a monastery in an attempt to regain his senses. No. I am trying to make up for the time that I have lost, you see.”

Yuuri felt himself blush, not sure if the king expected him to reply to that. Everyone knew the story behind King Victor’s absence from court a few years ago. Stricken by grief after the sudden death of his first wife and queen, the king had retreated to a monastery in the mountains. Yuuri remembered the whispers about it that had circulated even at the Japanese court. Some had believed that the Russian king would never return, that he had gone mad over the loss of his wife that he had apparently loved deeply. That he would soon be dethroned and that his cousin, Prince Georgi, would take over. 

But then the king had returned, centered, and as a different man.

Victor continued to make his way deeper into the garden towards his family. The moment the children spotted their father, they began to squeal happily and Yuuri expected them to rush towards them - but instead, the children clumsily knelt down and bowed their heads a little. The women did the same, albeit in a slightly different fashion and more elegantly. Yuuri could not help but pity them.

It seemed that even within this sanctuary, a king was still a king.

“Beloved family,” Victor began in Russian as he came closer. “We have an important guest among us, who has come to our kingdom all the way from the empire of Japan. With his help and guidance, each of you will be instructed in the Japanese language and culture, as well as in science, literature, and other disciplines that will prepare you for the future and help you grow.” 

Yuuri swallowed thickly as the king spoke of him so highly, as if he had not been breaking the protocol and offending him greatly just moments ago. But Yuuri knew better than to object as the king spoke; the harsh, melodic Russian rolling easily from his tongue almost like a lyrical chant. 

“This is a meaningful gift that I am making you,” the king added, switching to Japanese once more as he came to stand in the midst of his children. “And therefore, you must never forget to pay deference to your most honourable teacher, Katsuki Yuuri.” Victor gestured at the young teacher, and Yuuri needed a moment to understand that the king was expecting him to introduce himself personally.

By now, all the women and children had raised their heads again, the little ones studying Yuuri curiously with their bright blue eyes that Yuuri had already admired in the king. 

“G-good afternoon,” Yuuri said nervously in Russian, as he was not sure how well the children spoke Japanese, or if they spoke it at all. “It is a great pleasure for me to be here to t-teach you, and I hope that we can all work…ah, what is the word…. together, and learn from each other.”

The children giggled at his clumsy Russian, but it seemed that speaking to them in their mother tongue had effectively broken the ice. Even the women had begun to chuckle, looking at him in amusement, but warmly nonetheless.

Victor nodded at Yuuri and led him to a young boy sitting by the stairs to the pavilion. As his father approached, the boy rose to his feet, allowing Yuuri to have a proper look at him. He was a tender child, slim and almost fragile, with blonde hair at shoulder length that gave him an almost fairy-like, feminine appearance. It was clear where the boy had gotten his good looks from, for he was an almost spitting image of his father.

“My eldest son and heir to the throne, Prince Yuri,” Victor said, before he began to laugh softly. “What a coincidence in your names,  _ sensei _ .”

Yuuri bowed respectfully to the boy. “It is an honour to meet you, your highness,” he said.

Prince Yuri looked at him for a moment only before turning to his father, addressing him in a stilted tone of the language that Yuuri had heard from Lord Giacometti before. “Habe ich etwas getan, dass Euch missfallen hat, Vater?”

The king frowned. “Natürlich nicht,” he replied. “Wie kommst du darauf?”

“Warum dann bestraft Ihr mich mit einem ausländischen Lehrer, der nichts von unseren Sitten und Gebräuchen versteht, und nicht einmal sprechen kann, ohne über seine eigenen Worte zu stolpern?”

Yuuri had no idea what was going on, but based on the look that the prince shot at him it was clear that he was anything but happy with his presence. But before the prince could say anything else, Victor had slapped him hard across the face and the boy stumbled backwards.

“You will treat your most honourable teacher with the respect he deserves,” the king said harshly in Japanese as the boy regained his posture and lowered his head, his pale cheek a burning red. “You will address him with his appropriate title, and you will only speak Japanese in his presence. This applies to all of you. No Russian will be spoken when Katsuki-sensei is present, and you shall only speak to him in your mother tongue if he addresses you in it first. Is that understood?”

“Yes, father,” the crown prince whispered just like his siblings. Victor nodded and turned away from him again, and the boy retreated into the shadows of the pavillion as his father went to introduce the rest of the children to Yuuri.

“Prince Mikhail,” Victor said, gesturing at a young boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes. Yuuri bowed his head in greeting, and the child did the same in return.

“Princess Irina.” A little girl with long, blonde hair and big green eyes bowed to him gracefully, earning an approving pat of her father’s hand. 

“Prince Adrian.”

And so it continued, with Victor stopping in front of every child, introducing every single one of them to Yuuri, who became more and more overwhelmed with every child. It would take him some time to remember all of their names, the different diminutives used for them by their parents and the little remarks that Victor made about their Japanese skills. They all greeted Yuuri with a respectful bow and gave him their brightest smiles as he greeted them in return. To Yuuri, every single one of them was absolutely adorable.

A little girl suddenly sneaked up to them, jumping onto the back of the king with a giggle who, much to Yuuri’s surprise, reacted with a light chuckle as he reached back to support the girl clinging onto him

“And Princess Rozalina, of course.”

“I’m not a princess!” The girl chirped in perfect Japanese. “I’m a little monkey!”

Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh at that, and neither could the king. 

“Of course you are,  _ solnyshko _ ,” he said and pulled his daughter from his back and into his arms, kissing her head before putting her down on the floor. The princess giggled and wrapped her arms around her father’s leg, holding onto him tightly.

“I taught them Japanese myself,” Victor explained to Yuuri, who had been watching the rather intimate scene silently, feeling almost like an intruder. “Princess Rozalina here is by far my most eager student. I hope you will find her as delightful as I do.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile at that. “I’m sure I will, your majesty.”

Victor patted his daughter’s head and looked around in the crowd that was his family, apparently searching for someone.

“I must not forget my favourite wife! Lady Mila!” Victor suddenly exclaimed and extended his hand for one of the women to take, pulling her to her feet.

She was only a little older than Yuuri, with dark red hair and intelligent blue eyes. She clasped her hands on her lap and bowed politely to Yuuri in greeting. 

“Welcome to the Palace, Katsuki-sensei,” she said softly. “I hope that you had a pleasant journey across the sea.”

Yuuri bowed in return. “Thank you, Lady Mila,” he said. “Your pronunciation is excellent, if you allow me to say so.”

Mila laughed cheerfully. “Oh, thank you, Katsuki-sensei. It is very hard, but I do my best.”

“Oh, do not belittle yourself,  _ zaika, _ ” the king said and playfully nipped her chin before releasing her once more. “Lady Mila is far too smart for her own good, you see,” he said to Yuuri and began to lead him away from the women and children to a less crowded part of the garden. “But a man needs a woman like that in his life. I heard the most interesting things about the Lady Okukawa Minako. I was told you are acquainted.”

Yuuri nodded. “She is a friend of my family, your majesty,” he answered.

“Coincidences encounter us wherever we go, it seems.” They came to stand in front of an open door that led into the southern wing. King Victor clasped his hands behind his back. “This is where you will teach. Should you require anything we have not thought of, do not hesitate to tell my advisor. Lord Giacometti will arrange everything.”

Yuuri could only peek into the classroom for a moment, but what he saw was far more than he had expected. It seemed that the king seemed to take the education of his children seriously, and would neither spare trouble nor expense. 

“Thank you, your majesty,” Yuuri said and bowed deeply this time, hoping that his albeitedly clumsy introduction to the sanctuary and the king’s family hadn’t ruined the man’s view of him too much already. “I will not disappoint you.”

The king smirked. “I’m sure you won’t, Katsuki-sensei. I hope that we can have dinner together at some point to discuss the curriculum and other matters of that kind. And I would like to hear about your journey, of course.”

Yuuri nodded. “It would be an honour, your majesty.”

Victor regarded at him intently for a long moment, and Yuuri began to wonder if he had broken the protocol once more. But the king did not comment on anything of that sort. “Now if you don’t have any further questions that need to be discussed, I shall return to my duties.”

He nodded at Yuuri once more before he turned away and walked back towards the gates through which they had come. Yuuri stood up straight, watching him walk away, silently thanking the kami for sparing his life on this day. 

What a strange, extraordinary man the king was.

“Oh, your majesty!” Yuuri called after him before he knew what he was doing, rushing to follow him. The king stopped this time, turning around and looking at him expectantly.

“I…” Yuuri began, not sure how to begin. 

King Victor raised an eyebrow. “Out with it, sensei,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I have brought a young boy with me to the palace,” Yuuri explained quickly. “He must be the same age as the crown prince, I believe. I would like to teach him together with your children, if you don’t mind.”

Victor frowned a little before his expression changed again, as if he had just remembered something. “Yes, Lord Giacometti mentioned something along those lines. I do not mind at all. Maybe my son will have a friend in him. For we all know that, by God, he needs one.”

And with that, Victor the Divine walked away from him for good, and Yuuri watched as the heavy gates closed behind the king.

* * *

“Oh my God, Yuuri!”

The moment Yuuri returned to the public part of the palace again he found himself in the embrace of a very relieved Phichit. “I thought they were going to kill us on the spot!” Phichit exclaimed as he let go of him again, although only barely. “I had no idea that this was the private garden already!”

“As you said, the garden is a maze,” Yuuri murmured and freed himself from Phichit’s grasp. 

“What happened next?” Phichit asked eagerly. “Lord Giacometti wouldn’t tell me! Believe me, he was as pale as a sheet of paper the whole time!”

“Not here,” Yuuri whispered, drawing Phichit’s attention to the courtiers that were studying them curiously. The news that the new teacher had broken the protocol and had dared to stand in the presence of the king had surely already spread like wildfire. Yuuri was in no mood to discuss the details of his encounter with the king with those people nearby.

“Right,” Phichit agreed and linked Yuuri’s arm with his, practically dragging him back to their quarters where they wouldn’t be disturbed. It was good that they had left Otabek there that day, for he would have surely been scared to death by the king’s guard. The boy got up from his seat on the steps where he had been reading as they approached, running to get them something to drink. Yuuri was barely able to stop him, trying to explain to the boy that he was not their servant.

“Now spill the tea, Yuuri!” Phichit said impatiently. “What did he say?”

Yuuri sat down on the sofa by the window and took a few large sips. Only then, the sheer importance of what had happened dawned on him. 

“The king wants me to teach all of his children,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the water in his hands. “Not just the prince. All of them.”

“All of them?!” Phichit repeated and leant forward in disbelief. “How- how many does he have?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Twenty-two?!”

“And eleven wives and fifteen concubines and courtesans,” Yuuri added faintly. “And he wants me to teach all of them.”

Phichit stared at him with wide eyes. “Holy…”

“Don’t remind me,” Yuuri breathed, shaking his head. “I… I can’t do this, Phichit. I will ruin it. I was barely able to introduce myself properly in Russian, and the crown prince looked at me as if I were a piece of scum and-”

“The prince is a  _ child _ , Yuuri,” Phichit said emphatically and reached out to take his best friend’s hand. “And you are not just any scholar. You have been chosen by the Emperor himself! You can do this! Right, Otabek?”

Otabek nodded, sitting down on the floor beside the sofa, watching them expectantly.

“And I’m with you, on every step of the way,” Phichit reminded him. “Show this king what you’re made of. Hell, if not for yourself, then for the honour of Japan.”

Right. This was what he had been sent to Russia for - to teach Japanese, and to prepare the prince for the future. But now, he would not only teach a prince - but an entire family. 

This was not about him.

Only about the honour of Japan.

“And if this crown prince doesn’t know his place I’ll kick his ass personally.”

“Phichit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for the German bits:
> 
> "Was hat das zu bedeuten, Christophe? Wer ist das?" - What is the meaning of this, Christophe? Who is this?
> 
> "Das ist Yuuri Katsuki, Eure Majestät, der japanische Lehrer, nachdem Ihr geschickt habt, und sein Gefährte, Phichit Chulanont." - This is Yuuri Katsuki, your majesty, the Japanese teacher you sent for, and his companion, Phichit Chulanont.
> 
> "Habe ich etwas getan, dass Euch missfallen hat, Vater?" - Have I done something that was not to your liking, father?
> 
> “Natürlich nicht. Wie kommst du darauf?” - Of course not. How did you get this idea?
> 
> “Warum dann bestraft Ihr mich mit einem ausländischen Lehrer, der nichts von unseren Sitten und Gebräuchen versteht, und nicht einmal sprechen kann, ohne über seine eigenen Worte zu stolpern?” - Why then do you punish me with a foreign teacher that knows nothing of our ways and traditions, and who cannot even speak without stumbling over his own words?


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've caught a cold and can't talk, so I'm writing instead. I'm glad that the first chapter was perceived well!

**Two**

* * *

Yuuri couldn’t believe that he was going to be late on his very first day as a teacher.

“Otabek, quick, grab your stuff!” He called as he pulled on his robe, already searching for his shoes under the bed. He usually never overslept, but this time, he had been so exhausted and a nervous wreck thanks to his unexpected meeting with the king - it shouldn’t have surprised him that his body would just then decide to throw its inner clock out of the window.

Otabek rushed around the corner, holding a few books close to his chest as he waited for Yuuri, who had finally put on his shoes and grabbed his bag on the way out, almost falling down the stairs leading down to the courtyard. 

Although it was not even nine in the morning, it was already incredibly warm, and the unforgiving sun was bathing the palace in its light. If they had not been late already, Yuuri would have used their way to the sanctuary and to the classroom for a relaxed morning walk with Otabek, maybe coaxing a word or two out of him. But that would have to wait if he didn’t want to risk his head  _ again _ . 

The people they encountered on the way quickly moved aside as the teacher and his young protegée rushed down the endless hallways, slithering around corner after corner. Would he bring disgrace to Japan for good now, by demonstrating that he obviously could not even keep track of time? Oh, why had their quarters to be so far away from the sanctuary?

Yuuri sighed in relief as they finally reached the familiar gates and were allowed inside promptly by the guard. He pretended not to notice their disapproving glances and slipped through the open gates with Otabek, hurrying down the path to the southern wing and to the classroom.

Lady Mila was already waiting for them by the end of the pathway, dressed in a silken green robe that complimented her dark, red hair perfectly. She laughed as Yuuri came to stand in front of her, completely out of breath, but miraculously still on time. “No need to run, Katsuki-sensei,” she assured him and waited patiently until he had caught his breath again. “The lesson will begin when you arrive. We are going by you.”

Yuuri breathed a small thank you and smoothed out his clothing before following Mila around the corner and to the classroom. The day before, he had not been able to see much of it, as he had been too focused on not bringing disgrace to the people of Japan while in the presence of the king.

“This is your school,  _ sensei _ ,” Mila said softly and gestured at the building that would be his to work in for the foreseeable future. “I hope it is an appropriate place for your lessons.”

To Yuuri, the classroom appeared like a pavilion attached to the palace, with large, yet delicate archways instead of windows, allowing the sunshine in yet keeping the unforgiving heat of it away. Small desks and cushions had been neatly placed in four rows in front of his own, facing a chalkboard and a small cupboard filled with material that he had yet to study. 

And there, orderly beside their desks, stood the king’s children, their little hands clasped behind their backs as they looked at him expectantly. 

Only then it hit Yuuri that he had indeed been trusted with all of the king’s children. That every boy and every girl in the sanctuary would be his to teach.

“Is everything alright,  _ sensei _ ?” Mila asked softly, pulling Yuuri out of his thoughts.

“Yes, of course, Lady Mila,” he replied quickly. “I, ah, I was merely wondering where you and the other women would be sitting?”

“For now, the children are more important,” Mila answered. “His majesty allows his wives to decide for themselves if they want to join the classes. For now, it is best if you focus on the princes and princesses.”

Yuuri hoped that his relief was not visible on his face, but Lady Mila had just taken a rather heavy weight from his shoulders. Teaching only the children would shrink the number of his students drastically, and make his work a lot easier. 

“Of course,” he said again and cleared his throat before entering the pavilion, guiding Otabek to the only free desk at the front next to Princess Rozalina, who greeted Yuuri with a happy smile. Yuuri returned her smile as he put down his books on the table, taking a final, deep breath before facing the class.

“Well, then…” He said with a nervous smile, clasping his hands. “Shall we begin? Please, take your seats.”

The children obeyed and sat down on their little cushions, looking up at him expectantly as Yuuri let his eyes wander over his class. The day before, he had not noticed the significant age gap between the crown prince and his siblings, who all were at least five years younger than their brother. The prince himself sat in the front row, his face emotionless, as if the confrontation with his father had never taken place. 

“I…” Yuuri reached for pen and paper and sat down at his desk. “I would like to make a seating plan, so that I can learn your names quickly. Could you please tell me your names, one by one?”

Carefully, he wrote down the name of every child that introduced itself to him, and he made sure to greet every single one with a smile. When he came to the crown prince, he was taken aback at the boy’s rather rude tone of voice, but chose not to comment on it.

“And this is Otabek,” Yuuri explained eventually when he was done. “He came with me to the palace. He is shy and does not know anyone around here, so I hope that you will treat him with kindness.”

The children nodded, looking at Otabek curiously who seemed not to care at all.

“Alright,” Yuuri said, putting the pen down. “I believe that we can now-”

“Why isn’t he talking?” Prince Yuri interrupted him, his eyes set on Otabek. Otabek turned his head towards him, glancing at the prince for a moment before returning his attention to Yuuri.

“Otabek prefers to be quiet,” Yuuri explained, but that answer didn’t seem to satisfy the prince.

“What’s with you?” Yuri demanded to know. “Are you stupid? Hey! I’m talking to you!”

“Your highness, I must insist that you keep your voice down,” Yuuri said firmly. Otabek had turned his head once more to look at the prince, meeting his gaze with a serenity that was without equal. That seemed to irritate the crown prince even more, for he now began to shout at him. 

“Don’t look at me like that!” He yelled. “I’m the prince! You can’t look at me like that!”

“Your highness!” Yuuri hated raising his voice, and so, he stepped out from behind his desk. 

“It’s forbidden to look at the prince like that!” Yuri shouted. “You’re just a stupid orphan with no parents who can tell him what’s right or wrong!”

Before Yuuri could even open his mouth Otabek had thrown himself onto the prince, and the boys began to fight like rabid cats, kicking and scratching and pulling on hair.

“You can’t punch me! I’m the prince!” Yuri screamed. “You can’t punch me! You can’t!”

“Stop this at once!” Yuuri barked and shoved the other children out of the way as he tried to pull the boys apart with the help of Lady Mila and another wife of the king who had come to watch the lesson - but that was easier said than done. Otabek was fighting like a wild animal, trying to get hold of the other boy, fuming in anger that Yuuri had not known the boy possessed. 

“I said STOP!”

 

* * *

The throne room was where Victor seemed to spent most of his time, apart from the study on the other side of the garden. It was where he granted audiences to those who wished to see him, where he met his politicians and advisors, listening patiently to every single one of them, making decisions, shaping the future. 

It was a room with a long and rich history, and the throne in it had belonged to the great men and women that had come before him. His father, his grandfather, Queen Yekaterina the Magnificent. Sitting on it made even the proudest of men humble, serving as a reminder that everyone and everything in this world was only temporary - especially a king. The world would always keep on turning, regardless of the person sitting on the golden throne. A monarch always lived on borrowed time. The only thing he could do was to use it for the benefit of his people, and to prepare it for the one that would come after him. 

Victor the Divine had always been aware of the weight resting on his shoulders. 

One day, it would rest on the shoulders of his son. And the only thing he could do for him was to prepare him for his duty in the best way possible.

He barely listened to the report of the foreign ambassador kneeling a few feet away from him, not able to understand the man anyway. A translation would follow soon enough from one of his scribes that busily scribbled away in a corner as the man talked. Victor leant back against a cushion, drumming lightly with his fingers on the armrest as he returned his attention to the foreigner. 

The king was so tired that he didn’t even hear the gentle creak of opening doors, or the sound of tiny feet on the carpeted floor leading up to his throne. Only as Rozalina came into view he noticed her, and with the confidence of little children that absolutely everyone and everything was theirs, she marched right past the foreign ambassador and up the stairs to Victor’s throne and into his lap to whisper into his ear.  

The ambassador, realising that no one was listening to him anymore, stopped talking and looked up at the king in surprise. Lord Giacometti, who was sitting a few feet away from Victor, couldn’t help but smile a little. For many, it was unbelievable that the king allowed one of his children to interrupt an audience like that, but Christophe had known Victor long enough to know the man’s preferences. 

Victor pulled away, looking at Rozalina in confusion, but the little girl only nodded worriedly and tugged on her father’s sleeve. 

“His majesty will continue his meeting with you on another day,” Christophe said to the man as Victor rose from the throne and descended the stairs with Rozalina in his arms, not even looking at the ambassador as he headed for the door. 

The man began to protest, but was promptly pacified with a promise of a letter of recommendation for his sovereign at home.

The courtiers moved out of the way as their king walked out of the throne room and into the garden, heading towards the sanctuary with his daughter in his arms. That itself was not an unusual sight, for the king often carried the Princess Rozalina around, and his affection for her was a well-known fact. It was, however, odd to see the king in this part of the palace at this time of the day. And so, curious glances followed Victor as he entered the sanctuary and headed towards the school of his children. 

The boys and girls had scattered all over the garden, some of them playing or drawing pictures, but none of them being in their classroom like they were supposed to be. As Victor came closer, he realised that this was not true. The classroom had not been entirely abandoned. Another board had been put next to the one that had already been there, with the teacher’s desk in between. To Katsuki-sensei’s left stood the boy he had travelled with, writing what seemed to be the same sentence over and over again on the board. To his right stood his son Yuri, his arms crossed, refusing to do anything.

Katsuki-sensei himself sat at his desk, writing in silence.

Victor came to stand beside Mila, who had been watching the scene from afar. Surprised to see him she clumsily fell to his feet, but Victor told her with a gentle gesture of his hand to rise. Mila brushed nonexistent dirt from her dress and clasped her hands, moving a little closer to Victor. 

“What happened?” He asked her quietly, not wanting the boys or their teacher to notice his presence. 

Mila took a deep breath. “The boy, Otabek. He… he attacked Prince Yuri, your majesty.”

Victor regarded the other boy suspiciously, watching him write on the board carefully in perfect Russian whereas his own son, stubborn as he was, refused to lift a single finger.

Victor kissed the top of Rozalina’s head before putting her down on the floor, patting her back and sending her off to play with her siblings. Then, he clasped his hands on his back, looking over at Mila. 

“Why?”

Mila did not answer right away. She bit her lip, as if she were searching for the right words. “The prince… has tainted the memory of Otabek’s parents.”

The disappointment he felt for his son settled heavily in the king’s chest. It was not the first time that Yuri had spoken without thinking, hurting those around him deeply. But to show this kind of behaviour, on the day that should have been his first lesson with his new teacher, was a disgrace that Victor was not willing to carry for him.

Mila looked at him expectantly as Victor met his gaze, and he knew that they were both thinking the same. Mila was not Yuri’s mother, but she had known him since the day he was born, and had taken care of him after his mother, the queen, had died. 

She knew of his temper, and of his difficult nature.

“He will write,” Victor said, glancing at his stubborn son once more. “Even if he stands there until the break of dawn. Go and look after the other children. He does not deserve your supervision.”

“Yes, Victor,” Mila murmured, watching the king walk away towards the gates. She looked at the prince once more, and then at the young teacher, who had handled the situation so masterly like no other. 

And then, tearing her eyes away from the boys, she did as she was told and followed Rozalina.

* * *

It had already become dark as Otabek finally put down his chalk and approached Yuuri, who was reading in a book, tugging on his sleeve. Yuuri looked up, glancing at the board behind him.

“Are you done?” He asked Otabek. The boy nodded. “Good. Then you can go home.”

Otabek hesitated, tugging on Yuuri’s sleeve once more. 

“I will come once Prince Yuri has finished his task,” Yuuri answered patiently, knowing very well that the prince hadn’t written a single word so far. Otabek looked at him worriedly, but as he realised that Yuuri would not change his mind, he went to collect his books. 

“Do you think you know the way back?” Yuuri asked him, earning a little nod from the ever so silent boy as he disappeared into the night, following the light of the lanterns to the gates. 

At least, Yuuri thought, he did not have to worry too much about Otabek. 

His reaction to the prince’s words had been understandable, now that he had had an entire day to think about it. The captain of the ship that had taken them to Russia had told them that Otabek was an orphan. Yuuri did not know how and when Otabek had lost his parents, but his reaction to the prince’s insensitive remarks had shown him that the boy had loved them dearly, and would not allow the people to taint their memory.

Anyone would have reacted that way.

Yuuri briefly glanced at the prince over his shoulder, who still stood next to the chalkboard with his arms crossed and looking anywhere but at his teacher. 

Well, two could play that game.

Another hour passed in complete silence, with Yuuri reading an anthology of essays about courtly life in Russia and the prince pretending to not be bothered by the fact he had been standing at the board for an entire day now. Yuuri flipped through the pages, taking notes every now and then whenever he found an interesting passage. Reading about courtly life would surely help him and Phichit to adjust to their new surroundings, and give them the opportunity to put their knowledge into practise. 

Only as Yuuri heard the footsteps of several people on the gravelled pathway he looked up again, watching a bunch of servants led by Lady Mila approach the pavillion. Each servant was carrying a tray with food and drinks, far too much for one or two people alone. 

Behind Yuuri, the prince snickered triumphantly.

Yuuri rose from his desk and went to greet Lady Mila, who bowed to him respectfully.

“I’m sorry, Lady Mila, but dinner has to wait until the prince has been dismissed,” he told her, determined to stand his ground.

Lady Mila briefly glanced at the grinning boy before returning her attention fully to the young teacher, her blue eyes full of warmth.

“His majesty, King Victor, is worried that Katsuki-sensei might become hungry during the night,” she explained. “He has sent food for one person.”

Behind Yuuri, the prince let out an exasperated gasp before grabbing the chalk and beginning to write, his letters large and prominent, but of a certain elegance.

Lady Mila chuckled softly and bowed to Yuuri once more before instructing the servants to put down the trays on the other side of the classroom. Yuuri thanked them and wished Lady Mila a good night before returning to his seat at the desk, picking up his book again, now with the noise of chalk moving across the board in the background.

It began to rain, and Yuuri closed his books, turning around on his chair to watch the boy work. The boy was working with a doggedness that Yuuri had not expected to see from him, biting his lower lip as he wrote word after word, cleaning the board and starting all over. Only then Yuuri saw that the boy was staggering, exhausted from standing all day, and Yuuri got up from his chair and grabbed the prince before he could fall against the chalkboard.

“I’m not done yet!” The prince protested. 

“You will continue tomorrow,” Yuuri said firmly. “And the day after, if you cannot finish tomorrow. And besides, I cannot eat all of this food on my own.”

At the mention of food, Yuuri heard the boy’s stomach growl, and his eyes grew wider at the sight of the dishes that the king had sent to them from the palace kitchen.

“Come,” Yuuri said and gestured at the table. “I enjoy having company while having dinner. How about you?”

The prince stared at him in disbelief, as if he were debating with himself whether to accept the invitation or to treat it like a trap that had been set up to trick him - but his hunger seemed to win the battle this time. And so, Yuri followed his teacher to the table and sat down, staring at the food, not sure where to start.

Yuuri put his hands together in the manner of his people and murmured: “Itadakimasu.”

Yuri frowned, mumbling something similar under his breath before reaching hungrily for some meat. Yuuri did not reprimand him for the lack of manners - for he knew, by God, that hunger could turn even the most civilised person into a savage sometimes. The servants had also brought them chopsticks, and Yuuri picked them up to begin his meal the way he had at home. Some rice and meat, steamed vegetables, and perhaps a cup of sake when he was done. Although the beverage in front of them seemed to be the local version of it.

“Why does my father humiliate me?” Yuri asked suddenly, almost glaring at his teacher as he spoke. 

Yuuri reached for some bread, breaking it into smaller pieces. “He merely wants the best for you, your highness. My own father had similar methods.” He offered the boy a piece, who hesitantly took it and stuffed it into his mouth.

“What methods?” Yuri asked in a demanding tone. 

Yuuri thought back to his childhood. “He had me keep my hands in icy water for a long time. Then I had to write calligraphy, for hours. I couldn’t feel my fingers. All because I had been doing sloppy work the day before.”

“But that’s cruel!” The prince exclaimed angrily and slammed his fist onto the table. 

Yuuri smiled. “Now writing ‘I will not insult nor attack my fellow students in class’ a thousand times does not sound too bad anymore, I guess.”

Yuri blinked and immediately shrunk on his chair, lowering his head in shame. 

“I expect you to treat Otabek with the same respect you treat your brothers and sisters with,” Yuuri continued calmly as he filled a bowl with food for the boy. “He did not have it easy, but has now the chance for a new life. Just because he does not speak it does not mean that he’s stupid. Some people choose to remain silent. Just like some monks do, you see.”

He placed the bowl in front of Yuri, offering him a second pair of chopsticks. 

Yuri took them and turned him in his hands, refusing to look at Yuuri as he spoke again. “Can you show me how?” He asked quietly.

For the next half hour, Yuuri taught the prince how to properly eat with chopsticks. The first few attempts failed miserably, with food rolling all over the table and down to the floor, much to the prince’s anger but to Yuuri’s delight. Eventually, Yuri managed to transport a piece of meat from the bowl onto his tongue, and he screamed triumphantly before shoving the rest of the food into his mouth. 

Yuuri found the boy surprisingly entertaining to have as company. Prince Yuri had a hard shell, but definitely a soft core, which became visible when a beautiful, fluffy white cat jumped onto his lap and was promptly introduced to Yuuri as the prince’s pet named Potya.

“Potya is the best!” Yuri told his teacher excitedly. “I got her from Father when he returned from the monastery. She always does what I say!”

Yuuri eyed the cat who had begun to take a nap on her owner’s lap. “Some say that cats only have a mind of their own.”

“But not Potya,” Yuri declared. “Potya is super smart! I always know what she thinks.” Suddenly, his expression darkened, and he eyed Yuuri suspiciously. “My old teacher didn’t believe me. And the one before hated Potya. And the one before that was just mean.”

Yuuri remembered what the Russian ambassador had told him back in Japan, that the prince had had several teachers before, and that none of them had been found suitable by the king in the end. But then again, all of them had been Russian citizens. 

“Being mean is the last thing I want to be, your highness,” Yuuri said eventually. “But you must understand that if you’re mean to others, they will be mean to you too. You hurt Otabek deeply with your words. I expect you to apologise to him tomorrow. Not everyone can be as lucky as you and have parents.”

Yuri turned dark red again and looked down at the sleeping cat on his lap, running his fingers through Potya’s thick fur. “Okay.”

They spent the rest of the meal speaking about this and that before it was high time for the prince to go to bed. Before leaving, the boy helped Yuuri to put the dishes together to make it easier for the servants to take them away, and glanced once more at the board he’d been writing on.

“I’ll continue tomorrow,” he said. “Good night, sensei.”

“Good night, your highness,” Yuuri said, watching the boy disappear into the night with the cat in his arms.

 

* * *

The next morning, Prince Yuri approached Otabek before class and held out his hand to him. 

“I’m sorry for what I said. Okay?”

Otabek looked up at him with his usual, unreadable expression, but Yuuri was sure to see a hint of surprise in his dark brown eyes. 

And then, Otabek nodded, and shook Yuri’s hand.

“Good.” The prince flopped down at the desk right next to Otabek’s and pulled out his books. “So if you don’t want to talk, I’ll talk for you, okay? You can write notes and I read them out if you want, and if you don’t understand what Katsuki-sensei is saying then you just tug on my sleeve…”

 

* * *

At first, Yuuri had not been sure if he was the right man for the task of teaching a king’s entire family. As it turned out, however, it was one of the most delightful tasks he had ever had. The children of the king had excellent manners, and sat still during their lessons and listened attentively - only to burst into giggles whenever Yuuri stumbled over a word or something went wrong. But Yuuri didn’t mind. Soon, even a few of the women began to join his lessons, practising their Japanese reading and writing skills.

The crown prince had, fortunately, warmed up to Otabek. In fact, the two of them seemed inseparable after one week had passed. Wherever Yuri went, Otabek was there, and the opposite. Although it was the prince who did all of the talking, it was clear that Otabek had begun to like the other boy, and Yuuri was glad that the two had become friends instead of enemies. 

After all, the king had said that his son was in desperate need of a companion.

Ten days after their lessons had begun, a letter was delivered to Yuuri’s and Phichit’s quarters on a silver tray. 

“Is this what I think it is?” Phichit asked curiously from behind his books as Yuuri thanked the servant that had delivered the letter. 

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said and unfolded the delicate piece of paper, revealing a few lines in Japanese in the most delicate handwriting that he had ever seen.

 

_ Katsuki-sensei,  _

_ I would like to hear more about your journey and your first impressions of my family. I would be delighted if you were to join me for dinner tonight at seven o’clock. _

\- Виктор

 

“Who the hell is Binktop,” Phichit asked as he read the letter over his friend’s shoulder.

“Not Binktop. That’s the king’s name written in Russian, Phichit,” Yuuri explained. 

“Looks strange to me,” Phichit said, his eyes ghosting over the rest of the letter. “So he’s finally inviting you for dinner? I’ve heard that the man eats his guests alive if they annoy him.”

“I’m sure that people are merely exaggerating,” Yuuri said calmly and folded the letter again, but he had to admit that he had had similar things as well. The king’s temper was, according to the reports he’d heard, not to be underestimated, for it could change to the complete opposite within the blink of an eye. 

“So you are going?” Phichit asked and stretched out on the sofa whilst reaching for his books again.

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Yuuri asked in return and carefully put the letter into his pocket. “And besides, he already told me that he would like to see me at some point when he introduced me to his family. It seems that he knows Minako-sensei.”

Phichit let out a fond laughter. “My, I miss Minako. She was funny.”

“She’ll probably be around at some point,” Yuuri said and moved back to his desk where Otabek was sitting and doing his homework in complete silence, as always. At first, Yuuri had not been sure if Otabek would be able to keep up, as he had no knowledge of the boy’s education. Otabek, however, was a diligent student, and that seemed to rub off on Prince Yuri. Both of their works were of a high standard, which was something Yuuri would be happy to tell the king about. 

“How is it going, Otabek?” Yuuri asked and took a seat beside him. “Be careful with the hiragana over there.  _ Wa  _ and  _ Re  _ look very similar, so you have to pay attention to them.”

Otabek nodded and frowned deeply as he focused on his homework, leaning forward to check for spelling errors.

It was quarter to seven in no time, and Yuuri made his way through the endless maze of the palace towards the king’s chambers. A servant had come to pick him up, for which Yuuri was immensely grateful. Without the servant, he would have surely gotten lost on the way to the king’s rooms that were located in the inner circle of the palace complex, right opposite of the sanctuary. They passed several official bureaus on the way, the state servants and ministers working there eyeing Yuuri curiously as he greeted each of them with a polite nod. It seemed that they had still not gotten used to his presence, but they knew better than to say so out loud. Criticising his presence would mean to criticise the king, and the courtiers had no intention of losing their heads for someone like him.

In turn, this meant that Yuuri’s position at court depended entirely on him being in Victor’s favour. 

If Katsuki Yuuri only worked well under pressure. 

Eventually they came to stand at a heavily ornamented door, behind which angry voices seemed to argue with each other. One of them was the king’s - the other two Yuuri did not recognise. 

Perhaps he should not have come.

But the servant knocked on the door without hesitation, and the king’s voice called them in.

They had arrived at what seemed to be the private study of the king. A large desk throned on a dais in the centre of the room, covered in quills and papers. Magnificent tapestry ornamented the walls, as well as some paintings of people Yuuri did not recognise. The largest of them all was the painting of a woman with long, blonde hair, wearing a dark red robe. On her lap sat a small child with fairy-like features and the same hair colour as its mother. 

Yuuri realised that this had to be the queen - Prince Yuri’s mother, who had passed away suddenly a few years ago, and whose death had shaken the king to the core.

The king himself stood by the doors that led out to the patio, and with him, two other men that Yuuri had never seen before. One of them was a little older than he was, with dark hair and sharp facial features that Yuuri believed to have seen in the king already. The other man was a lot older, his facial expression solemn, seeming to Yuuri like the sort of person that never, ever could be bothered to smile.

“Is this it, then, Victor?” The older man asked the king as he looked Yuuri up and down. 

“I told you that I would listen to you until my most honourable guest would arrive - which he has now,” the king replied lightly and beckoned Yuuri to come closer. “Katsuki-sensei, let me introduce you to my uncle, Duke Yakov, and my cousin, Prince Georgi.”

Yuuri bowed politely. “It is an honour to meet you, your highnesses.”

“Good evening,” Prince Georgi said, inclining his head to him briefly. 

Yakov, however, only let out a small hum of recognition before turning towards the king again. “We will discuss this tomorrow, then, when you don’t have your head in the clouds.”

Victor’s eyes glinted dangerously for a moment. “I always think clearly, dearest uncle, no need to worry about that. You are dismissed.”

And with that, Victor left his uncle and cousin where they were and put an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, leading him away from them and next door. “I am very happy that you came, sensei. Again, I must ask for forgiveness that I haven’t received you right after your arrival. But you see, the duties of a king are numerous, and it is very easy to get lost.” The doors behind them shut with a gentle thud, shutting out the world for now. 

The dining room the king had taken him to was just as magnificent as his study, albeit with large archways instead of windows, similar to the classroom he taught in. The gentle breeze of the evening played with the silken curtains hanging from the ceilings, letting them appear as if they were dancing. A large, sumptuous meal had been served on the table in the centre of the room, and several bottles of what appeared to be wine were waiting to be tasted. 

“Please, take a seat,” Victor said, switching to Japanese, and let go of him again, gesturing at one of the two cushions by the table. Yuuri obeyed and took a seat, clasping his hands on his lap politely as the king joined him. 

“I prefer to dine without servants in the room,” Victor explained as he reached for the carafe of wine to his left and poured Yuuri a generous amount. “My wife, the queen, did not like to be surrounded by servants, so I changed the tradition of being served during dinner for her sake. I must admit that I came to like this way of ending the day, in peaceful silence. In the company of a loved one or friend, instead.” He pushed the full glass across the table towards Yuuri, who instinctively reached for the wine carafe to pour the king a drink in return. “That is how it is done in Japan, is it not?” The king asked. “To never pour one’s own cup, but to serve the other?”

“Y-Yes,” Yuuri answered nervously, worried that he had done something wrong again. “If you don’t want me to then-”

“Oh, no, please!” Victor said quickly and offered him the carafe. “I do not expect you to abandon your ways and customs entirely, merely because you are here now.”

Yuuri blushed at that, and carefully poured the king a glass of wine before setting the now empty carafe down again. 

Victor took the glass and raised it. “Kampai.”

“Sa sdarovje,” Yuuri blurted out, and the king chuckled before taking a small sip.

Great, Yuuri.

“As I said, I’m very happy that you found the time to dine with me tonight,” Victor said, putting his glass down and reaching for the meat plate between them. “I hope that you have settled in by now. I supervised the arrangements for your quarters myself. If there is anything amiss, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Yuuri said and bowed his head instinctively. “Phichit and I have settled in well, and our rooms are much more than we ever dared to expect. We are very grateful for your hospitality.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Victor hummed. “I heard that Chulanont has befriended my librarians already - after knocking over several candles and almost setting the Divine Library on fire.”

Yuuri felt himself blush even more. A typical Phichit move. “He’s a little clumsy when he’s too excited, I’m afraid.” Once the king was done filling his plate, Yuuri reached for the food to do the same.

Victor laughed as he began to cut his food into smaller pieces. “That reminds me of Princess Rozalina. She tends to trip over her own feet when she is too excited.”

“Oh, I know,” Yuuri said and couldn’t help but chuckle. Whenever the princess came to the lesson in the mornings, she would greet him with a cheer and run towards him to tell him what she’d done the day before after class. And every single time without fail, she would trip over her own feet and stumble right into him. “I find her most delightful. She is very smart.”

The king smiled fondly, a look that Yuuri had seen on him before, when Rozalina had jumped onto his back. “Of course I love all of my children equally,” Victor began. “But Princess Rozalina holds a special place in my heart. Her mother died the day she was born, you see. It was a tragedy, and her sudden loss shook me to the core. But when they brought Rozalina to me and placed her in my arms, she grabbed my finger and wouldn’t let go again.” The king paused, his fingers caressing the glass of wine. “I named her after her mother, you see. Lady Rozalina was just as gentle, kind, and affectionate as the princess. Qualities that I wish the crown prince would possess.” He sighed deeply, continuing with his meal. “It would make his life a lot easier.”

Yuuri looked down at his plate, taking a bite from the poultry. The king spoke like any father, he thought, praising his children and expressing his concerns. And for a king, Yuuri thought, it surely was even more painful to watch one’s child revolt against what one wished for it. 

“The prince has surprised me, your majesty,” Yuuri began slowly, putting down his fork and knife, clasping his hands orderly on his lap. “He is… an incredibly bright child. There is a fire in him that not many children possess. Yes, he may be… wild and stubborn, but he has a gentleness to him that is most delightful.”

The look that King Victor bestowed on him was one that Yuuri found hard to identify, and he began to wonder if he had said something fatally wrong - that the king would cut him down to size any moment for daring to speak to freely. But no such thing happened. Instead, the king’s expression changed to something that Yuuri could not understand as something different than… gratitude.

“Yura’s former teachers were unable to see this side of him,” Victor said softly, and he looked down at his wine thoughtfully. “He was such a lovely child when he was little. But then his mother died, and he has not been the same ever since. Yura loved her deeply. That is not an excuse for his current behaviour, of course,” he added, lifting his gaze once more. “I approve of the punishment you gave him. I hope he has finished it by now.”

Yuuri blinked, surprised that the king knew about the detention that he had given the boy. “He has, yes,” he answered. “And he has befriended Otabek the following day. I could barely believe my eyes.”

“Yes, Lady Mila told me about it,” Victor said and reached for the bread basket. “I’m glad that he has found a friend in him. And I hope that you will find friends at my court, too. I assume that people treat you with caution, still?”

And so, they moved on from the topic of the king’s children to Yuuri’s first weeks in the palace, and he told the king everything about their journey across the ocean. Victor seemed very interested, asking for the details of his preparation for the journey and about the things the Japanese thought of the Russian kingdom. Yuuri soon found that the king was actually a pleasant and easy person to talk to, and that his Japanese was of a very high standard despite the slight accent that the king apologised a few times for. 

Never before had Yuuri spent such a long time alone in the company of a foreigner, let alone a king. But with every hour that passed, Victor seemed less like a king, but more like a human being. A human being with intelligence, wit, and full of warmth. 

As Yuuri returned to their quarters that night, Phichit was still awake, flipping through the pages of a book he had borrowed from the library while lounging on the sofa.

“How was it?” He asked as Yuuri shut the door behind him and took off his shoes.

“It was…. interesting,” Yuuri answered, flopping down on the sofa beside Phichit and curling up to his best friend the way they had always used to as boys. “He told me a little about the children, and then wanted to know more about our trip. He’s really interested in ships, it seems.”

Phichit wound an arm around him and patted his back. “Sounds good,” he yawned. “How was the food? Otabek and I shared some weird stew tonight. No idea what it was.”

“It was good,” Yuuri answered, only then realising how tired he was, now that he had his head resting on Phichit’s stomach. “Almost like at home… really tasty and… nice to look at.”

Phichit’s chuckled, and he ran his hand through Yuuri’s hair. “What, the food or the king? Because it sounds like you’re talking about both.”

“Phichit!”

 

* * *

And so, Yuuri settled into his new life at the Russian palace.

Living in the midst of the palace complex had turned out to be very different from what Yuuri had expected - for books and reports could tell one only ever this much. Experiencing the Russian court and its people firsthand was an entirely different matter - but it was one that Yuuri was grateful for, and soon, he found himself enjoying his new life. 

Every morning, he would go to the sanctuary and teach the king’s children. It had not taken them long to get used to him, and Yuuri had quickly learnt all of their names. They were attentive and studied hard, albeit always being what they were: children, little boys and girls that loved to play and laugh about silly things. After consultation with the king, he had decided on a curriculum that he would teach them, from the Japanese language to its history as well as mathematics and science. Furthermore, he would introduce them to different philosophical models once they had become a little older, hoping that this would enable them to view the world from many different perspectives. Even teaching the crown prince had become a delightful task, for Yuri was an excellent, curious student if one only let him be. But in the end, it was Otabek who kept the prince grounded, and Yuuri regarded it as a blessing of his gods that he had met the boy on the ship. 

It seemed that Yuri had only needed a friend in order to blossom. 

One that certainly did not need extra attention was the Princess Rozalina. Yuuri had absolutely no problem with finding her as delightful as her father did, and he found himself enjoying her company immensely. Every morning, she would run towards him to greet him, promptly stumbling over her own feet. Upon learning that even her teacher had a first name like any other person in the world, she had begun to call him by it outside the classroom. Whenever Yuuri heard the cheerful “Yuu-li!”, he could be sure that the princess had a new drawing for him. He collected them all, putting them on the walls in their classroom. This promptly motivated the other children to draw him pictures as well, forcing Yuuri to regularly replace the drawings with new ones. The women in the sanctuary watched his efforts in amusement, and every now and then assisted him in his task.

On the morning of a surprisingly grey summer day, Lady Mila approached the school just before the beginning of class. A young man with pale skin was following close behind, his brown eyes nervously studying his surroundings. His clothing was of the same, delicate material that the women wore, albeit cut differently to suit the shape of his masculine body.

“Good morning, Lady Mila,” Yuuri said as he walked down the few steps to the gravelled path. 

“Good morning, Katsuki-sensei,” Lady Mila greeted Yuuri in Japanese. “I would like to introduce you to Ji Guang Hong. He is new to the palace.”

The man in question bowed deeply, murmuring a soft greeting in accented Japanese. The fact that the king had a few male concubines was nothing new to Yuuri, for he had met the three or four that there were a few times already. Nonetheless, it felt strange to witness the arrival of yet another concubine. Yuuri studied him briefly, coming to the conclusion that Guang Hong was of Chinese descent, judging by his name. He was young, incredibly young even - probably not even eighteen years old. His face was round and still a little chubby, the appearance of a boy that had not quite yet reached adulthood. His long hair was of a chestnut brown, falling down his back in an intricate braid. 

“Good morning, Guang Hong,” Yuuri said and smiled at the boy, hoping to lure him out of his shell a little. “And welcome. Would you like to join the lessons?”

Guang Hong nodded shyly. “I want… I… would like…  learn write and speak in Japanese to… to bring joy to… to majesty, King Victor.” He met Yuuri’s gaze only briefly before looking down at his feet again, demurely clasping his hands. 

Yuuri carefully reached out to touch the boy’s arm. “Of course I will teach you. But I hope that you will take delight in learning for yourself as well.” 

The way Guang Hong looked at him reminded Yuuri of a deer, shy and ready to run away at any second. Yuuri did not know what path had taken Guang Hong to the sanctuary of the Russian king, but he could imagine that the boy was merely shy and scared because he was new, and far away from home. 

“Thank you,  _ sensei _ ,” Guang Hong said ever so gently. Yuuri thanked Mila and then led Guang Hong into the pavilion to join the children of the king for today’s lesson.

Just as he was about to begin with the usual recapitulation of what they had been learning the day before, Yuuri realised that his entire class was missing - and that the children had gathered on the other end of the garden instead, apparently excitedly waiting for something.

“Yuu-li! Yuu-li!” Rozalina came running towards him, skipping the last two steps up into the pavilion in excitement. “Today is a big day!”

“A big day?” Yuuri asked, crouching down to her height. “What big day?”

“Come with me!” And before Yuuri knew what was happening, she had grabbed his hand and pulled him with him. Yuuri called an apology towards the confused Guang Hong and allowed Rozalina to take him to the other side of the garden where her siblings were standing at the bottom of the stairs that led into the women’s quarters, jumping up and down on the spot. Even Yuri was there, Otabek at his side, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on inside. 

“What is happening?” Yuuri asked one of the wives that carried one of the smaller children in her arms. 

“Lady Alyona is giving birth,” she informed him. “It’s been almost a year since a child has been born to the king, and naturally, the children can’t wait to meet their new playmate.”

Just then, the doors to the building opened and an older woman came out. She seemed to be well known by the children, for they greeted her with excited squeals and even clung to her legs. “Children, rejoice! You have another little brother!” She exclaimed, earning happy shouts from the boys and girls around her. The women sighed in relief, beginning to chat excitedly amongst themselves while Yuuri couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch.

“I have a little brother, Yuu-li!” Rozalina shouted, tugging vehemently on his sleeve. “Look!” She pointed to his left, and Yuuri turned his head. 

Victor stood on the patio of the pavilion, with his back to his children, speaking to someone inside the building that Yuuri could not see. In his arms, he carried a tiny bundle. As the baby began to cry softly, Victor lowered his head, bringing the child closer to his chest, kissing its head ever so tenderly.

Deep inside Yuuri’s chest, something began to tug on his heart.

“My little brother!” Rozalina exclaimed, clinging tightly onto Yuuri’s leg. “When can I play with him, Yuu-li?”

Yuuri withdrew his gaze from the incredibly intimate scene only reluctantly. “Well, your little brother first needs to become bigger, and be able to sit by himself before you can play with him,” he said to the princess. “But until then, you can play with your other brothers and sisters.”

“I can!” Rozalina agreed suddenly, as if she had just now realised that she could indeed play with her other siblings until her new brother was old enough. Then she gasped, and jumped up and down on the spot. “Daddy! Daddy!”

Yuuri turned around again, just in time to watch Victor return the child to its mother before heading down the patio towards the rest of his family. The children cheered and immediately gathered around him, shooting countless questions at their father, who merely chuckled and took his time to explain to every single one of them that yes, they had another little brother who was yet to be named and that no, they couldn’t go and play with him just yet, for he was still so very small. 

And then, after assuring Rozalina that she would get to meet the new prince soon, the king came to stand in front of Yuuri, who greeted him with a bow.

“Allow me to congratulate you to the birth of your son, your majesty,” Yuuri said softly.

“Thank you, sensei,” Victor said, his smile spreading all over his face. Yuuri couldn’t remember that he had ever seen the king in such a good mood. “It is a reason for congratulations indeed! A healthy child is Heaven’s greatest blessing, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I do, your majesty,” Yuuri assured him and followed Victor as he walked away from the pavilion, away from his children that most certainly overwhelmed him with their cheerfulness. 

“I see that you have already met Ji Guang Hong?” Victor asked as they walked past the classroom where Guang Hong hid behind a book. “His Japanese is not as good as I thought, but I hope he will prove to be a good student.”

“I’m sure that all he needs is some time to settle in, your majesty,” Yuuri answered.

Victor hummed thoughtfully. “Probably. And you don’t… mind that he is a man? A male concubine?”

Yuuri blushed deeply and cleared his throat, to which the king replied with an amused laugh. “There I’ve got you, it seems,” Victor smirked and his eyes sparkled in malicious glee. “But don’t tell me that you have prejudices?”

“O-of course not, your majesty!” Yuuri said quickly, hoping that the man would believe him. “I would never dare to-”

“Ah, ah, Katsuki-sensei!” Victor chided him playfully. “I was only jesting. Of course I know you wouldn’t mind.” And then, he gently grasped Yuuri’s chin, moving closer to him than ever before. “And even if you did,” Victor whispered, his lips dangerously close to Yuuri’s. “What would it matter to me?”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, wanting to look anywhere but into the bright blue eyes of the king, but oh, he failed miserably. He was so close, dangerously close, allowing Yuuri to take in the faint scent of what seemed to be perfume. A floral scent, yet masculine at the same time, precisely the way he had imagined a king as divine as Victor to smell like…

And then, without any warning, Victor released him again. 

“I suggest you collect the children and take them back to class,” he said. “Maybe you can manage to use today’s excitement for your lessons.”

Yuuri stared after the king as he walked away, graceful as ever, as if he had not just been almost brushing his lips against his own. 

Inside Yuuri’s chest, his heart seemed barely able to contain itself.

And Yuuri was not sure if he even wanted it to. For the delighted flutter coming from it was so painful, and yet so lovely, that Yuuri craved more and more of it.

“What am I doing,” Yuuri whispered, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. “Oh, kami, what am I doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments! :)


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos!

**Three**

* * *

 

The men standing around the tactics board were completely silent, none of them daring to say a word as the king took in the news of the latest attacks, trying to trace them as he brushed his fingers over the old, worn out map. The northern provinces had always been the most peaceful and most remote of them all, with little need to worry about them most of the time. The news of the attacks, of the slaughter of men, women, and children that lived in the villages near the border had therefore come as a surprise and shock, and the king’s heart broke for the lives lost.

The north had become a second home to the king a few years ago, when he had fled to the monastery to mourn the death of his queen. The monks had taken him in without question, teaching him their ways, allowing him to study the holy doctrines, all of it an attempt to regain his senses while his heart wept for his wife. For months, Victor had felt as if all happiness, all joy, had been taken from him forever, as if a part of his soul had been cut out and locked away, never to be found again. At night, he had cried for her, begging the Heavens for a miracle that would never come. 

The solitude of the monastery, and the healing powers of the forests surrounding it had kept him alive. And the power of prayer, and the thought of his little son, had brought him back to the palace.

“Who would do such a thing,” Victor said quietly, his finger hovering over the name of a village that now no longer existed. “Kayae was a village of fishermen.”

“I don’t know,” Yakov said gruffly, folding his arms and leaning against the table behind him. “But it was slaughter.”

“Perhaps the rebels found a way to get across the borders,” Georgi suggested after a while. “They have been trying to get into the country for some time. Perhaps they found a hole in our-”

“Unlikely,” Victor murmured, shaking his head. “We would have heard about that. And besides, no men of ours guarding the borders have been killed. If the rebels had actually come across the borders they would have had to fight them.”

He stepped away from the map and grabbed his wine goblet, taking a large sip to soothe his nerves.

The north had always been his soft spot.

“Christophe,” he said, and his friend and First Advisor stepped forward. “Send one of your men with a team to the north for a civil investigation. No military.”

“I will arrange it immediately,” Christophe replied and walked out of the study to do as he’d been told.

“No military?” Georgi repeated in disbelief. “But Victor-”

“A wise move,” Yakov muttered. “We must not draw attention to ourselves.”

“In our own country?” Georgi asked. “But father-”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm and patriotism, Georgi,” Victor interrupted his cousin calmly. “But sending an army up north would mean revealing our strength to the enemy. Which, as we just discussed, we do not know.”

Georgi sighed and stepped back, closing his mouth for good. 

“Focus on your actual duties instead, Georgi,” Yakov said. “You have a festival to organise.”

“Right,” Victor said and returned to his desk, the goblet of wine still in his hands. “The solstice is coming up. The children are already excited.” He took a seat at his desk and pulled the letters he had received this morning towards him. “How are the preparations coming along, Georgi?”

“They’re going well,” Georgi replied stiffly. “As every year.”

“Good. Remember that we have foreign guests with us this time,” Victor said and reached for a quill. “We must make sure they enjoy it as well.”

“What foreign guests?” Yakov asked. “You’re not inviting the teacher, are you?”

“Of course I am!” Victor replied almost cheerfully. “And his companion, Mr. Chulanont. And their boy, obviously. He has befriended Yura. Quite the miracle, I have to say.”

“Victor - your majesty, forgive me,” Georgi said with a nervous laugh. “But the solstice festival is traditionally for the royal family and selected members of noble families only. Outsiders are not permitted to attend.”

“Katsuki- _sensei_ _is_ a member of a noble family,” Victor replied calmly, not looking up from his work as he spoke. “And so is Phichit Chulanont. They are our most honourable guests. You certainly do not expect me to exclude the teacher of my children, who already love him so dearly?”

“O-of course not, but I-”

“Then everything has been said and you should get busy.” Victor carefully dipped the quill into the inkpot and began to write without looking up at his cousin another time.

Georgi stared at him for a moment, then turned around and walked out of the room without looking back.

Yakov sighed. “Vitya.”

“Hm?”

“Do you think this is a good idea?” He asked. “Displaying your… approval of the foreigner in public?”

Victor’s gaze shot up to meet Yakov’s. In his eyes was nothing but an icy glare, one that his late father had been famous for, and his mother, too. “I don’t think I need to remind you that ‘the foreigner’, as you like to call him, is the teacher of my children, Yakov,” he said in a dangerously calm voice. “And that he enjoys my trust and respect. I expect that you show him the same amount of trust and respect in return. Is that understood.”

“Of course,” Yakov said gruffly. “But remember that the solstice festival is not just any festive event. Openly parading the man around could be perceived the wrong way by some people.”

“Who said that I was parading him around, Uncle?” Victor asked in annoyance. “No, you know what? I do not wish to hear anything further about this matter.” He dropped his quill and rose from his desk, causing Yakov to take a small step back. “I’m going to see my children now,” Victor declared. “And to inquire how their lessons are going with ‘the foreigner’.” And with that, he left Yakov behind, not even deigning him a single glance as he walked out of his study and headed towards the home of his family.

It was early in the afternoon, and Victor arrived at the pavilion just in time to watch the children pack their books away and gather around their teacher for what he knew was their daily ritual to finish their lessons. Katsuki- _ sensei _ stood in their middle, making sure that they were all paying attention once more.

“What lesson for our lives have we learnt today, children?” He asked them. 

Adrian raised his hand. “That we must never laugh when someone else makes a mistake, because we make mistakes ourselves!”

Katsuki- _ sensei _ smiled. “That’s right, Prince Adrian. And what did we learn about the world today?”

“That deep down in the sea are animals that we don’t even know yet!” Irina exclaimed.

“Well said,” the young teacher praised. “And what did you learn about yourselves today? That’s right, write that down in your personal journal, so you may look at it in a few years and see how far you have come. I wish you all a lovely day. You may go.”

“Thank you,  _ sensei _ !” The children said in unison before storming off to have lunch with their mothers. They squealed as they spotted their father and clumsily dropped to their knees, but Victor only laughed and asked them with a wave of his hand to not mind him. No, today was truly not a day for formalities.

Victor clasped his hands on his back as he ascended the few steps into the pavilion, only to be greeted promptly with a hug by Rozalina. “Daddy!” She squealed in Russian. “Daddy! I learnt lots of new kanji today!”

“That’s wonderful, darling, but remember that we speak Japanese when Katsuki- _ sensei _ is present,” he reminded her gently and patted her head. “Go and have lunch.”

“Hai!” She chirped and ran off, promptly stumbling several times over her little feet as usual. By the desks at the front, Yuri and Otabek rose from their cushions, the prince explaining something to his friend in great detail until he noticed his father standing there, watching them. Yuri immediately bowed his head, and Otabek did the same before moving aside to put their things away. 

“Go and have lunch, Yura,” Victor said. “I would like to have a few words with your teacher.”

Yuri nodded and moved towards the stairs, waiting for Otabek to join him before leaving with him in the direction of the dining area. 

Katsuki- _ sensei _ looked up from his desk as Victor came closer, and he inclined his head in greeting. “Good afternoon, your majesty,” he said and rose, smoothing out his clothing. “I didn’t see you arrive, I’m afraid.”

Victor made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “No need to worry,  _ sensei _ ,” he assured him calmly, briefly studying the other man. He was well dressed, as usual, his clothing tight and fitting him well, complimenting his physique.

Only a fool would deny that Katsuki Yuuri was indeed a very attractive man.

And a rebel on top of that, for he never really followed the protocol.

Not that Victor did mind.

On the contrary.

“It dawned on me this morning that you have been the teacher of my children for almost eight weeks now,” Victor said. “And I was wondering how the lessons are coming along from your perspective. I only ever hear good things about you from my children, you must know. Especially Rozalina won’t go to sleep before she hasn’t told me absolutely everything new about her beloved teacher.”

The blush that spread across Katsuki- _ sensei _ ’s face was the most adorable thing Victor had ever seen on another man. “Th-that’s very kind of you- and of your children, of course,” he said quickly and bowed in the fashion of his own people. “I enjoy teaching the children very much. And the rest of your family, too. Especially Lady Alyona and Guang Hong are making rapid progress.”

Victor followed the teacher’s gaze to the other side of the pavilion, where Guang Hong, his newest concubine, sat behind a partition and worked in complete silence. His cheeks had lost some of their roundness since his arrival to the palace, sharpening his features into those of a young adult. And yet, there was always a certain melancholy in the Chinese boy’s eyes.

“I’m glad that he’s settling in,” Victor said and withdrew his gaze from Guang Hong once more. “And that you find joy in teaching my family.”

“It is the greatest honour, your majesty,” Katsuki- _ sensei _ said with another bow. “It is most delightful to have such hard-working students.”

“And I think that is a reason for you to celebrate,” Victor said and folded his arms over his chest as the young teacher looked at him curiously. “I don’t know if the children told you, but we celebrate the solstice at this time of the year. It is a festival for the family, and for selected guests. A magnificent spectacle every year, with music, dance, and entertainment. My children always enjoy it very much. I would like to invite you and your companion to join us this year. And the boy, Otabek, is welcome as well, of course.”

Katsuki- _ sensei  _ performed an absolutely flawless bow at that. “It would be an honour for us to attend the festival, your majesty.”

Victor smiled in satisfaction. He could already imagine the young teacher at the festival, undoubtedly sitting amongst his children, his big, brown eyes sparkling in the light of the lanterns as he admired the performance of the musicians. 

Anything, yes, anything just to see him smile.

“Yuu-li!” Rozalina had jumped onto her teacher, holding onto his legs. “Are you coming to the festival?”

“Rozalina!” Victor said with a gasp, pretending to be shocked. “You cannot address your most honourable teacher like that!”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Katsuki- _ sensei _ laughed, and it was the most beautiful laugh that the king had heard in a very long time. Not since…

“And yes.” The Japanese had crouched down to Rozalina’s level. “I will come to the festival. The king has just invited me.”

“You can sit with me then!” Rozalina exclaimed happily. “And we sing and dance and have lots of tasty food!”

“I’m very much looking forward to it, Princess,” Katsuki- _ sensei _ said softly and chuckled as she ran off again, this time jumping onto Guang Hong’s back to pester him with an endless string of questions of what he was doing and why and how.

“She is quite energetic,” Katsuki- _ sensei _ said, watching as the young man tried to calm down the overexcited child ever so patiently. “But she is just the way you said. Gentle, kind, and affectionate.”

Victor felt his chest swell with pride for his daughter, who never failed to enchant the people around her. Even the hardest men, the most ruthless of his ministers, couldn’t help but smile each time she barged into his study to get a kiss from him, or to just play near him with her dolls. 

“Now you have a definite obligation to attend,” Victor said and withdrew his gaze from his daughter. “Otherwise she would be heartbroken.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” the teacher smiled, and a gentle blush spread over his cheeks. 

What an adorable man.

* * *

It seemed that none of the clothes that Yuuri had taken with him from Japan seemed to fit such an unusual occasion. Of course he had packed a few robes that were a bit more formal than others, but none of them seemed to be appropriate for a festival as the one they were celebrating tonight. It was not necessarily a formal event, but since the king had invited a few official guests, Yuuri had to make sure he represented his country well.

“This isn’t an event for a kimono,” Phichit chirped from behind him as he wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s middle and rested his chin upon his shoulder. 

“I know,” Yuuri sighed and let the silken kimono slip through his fingers and back into its box. “But what else could I wear? I cannot wear the robes I’m in every day.”

“What about wearing something a little darker than usual, then?” Phichit asked, pecking Yuuri’s cheek before withdrawing from him again to rummage through Yuuri’s belongings. Yuuri sat down on the sofa, watching his friend tiredly. 

“I’ve checked every single box,” he told him. “There isn’t anything that seems appropriate.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Yuuri,” Phichit hummed, happily throwing clothing halfway across the room in his search for the perfect outfit. “You have many great items. Remember that I’ve supervised your weak attempt at packing before we got here?”

“Yes, but-”

“Aha!” Phichit grinned triumphantly and pulled out a dark blue robe. “There it is! I knew I had put it in there!”

Yuuri looked at the piece of clothing in confusion. “I told you that it was far too extravagant for this place!”

Phichit “tsk”ed and turned around, holding up the garment. “My dear Yuuri, this robe, cut in the traditional style of the Russian court, will guarantee you the admiration of every man and woman tonight!”

“Phichiiiit,” Yuuri whined and threw himself face-first onto the cushions. “This is precisely what I do not want! Didn’t you read the instructions? No one is supposed to draw attention to himself when the king is present!”

Phichit rolled his eyes and pulled Yuuri up by his collar. “This won’t draw attention to you, it will merely compliment your damn fine body of which I know that it is somewhere underneath these rags that you call night garments.”

Yuuri blushed all over his face and quickly crossed his arms over his chest in attempt to appear a little more chaste. “It is far too tight.”

“It’s exactly right and you know it.”

“It’s too formal.”

“It’s perfect for this occasion.”

“It’s-”

“If you don’t put it on this second I swear I’ll drag you out there naked.”

Yuuri snatched the robe from him, glaring at his friend before disappearing into his bedroom. He knew Phichit well enough to know that his friend wasn’t jesting. In the past, he’d done similar things to lure him out of his shell, and although Yuuri had hated Phichit many times for it, he was now grateful. Without him, he would have never become the man he was today. He would have never dared to apply for the Imperial library to study there, or to work under the Emperor himself. The day his father had called Yuuri into his study, and had introduced him to the shy Thai that had come to join their household, had influenced his life greatly. For Phichit had not only become his friend, but his confidante, his brother.

And for some time, his lover, even.

Slowly, Yuuri took off his night garments that he liked to lounge in, and put on the dark blue robe that Phichit had given him. The fabric felt soft on his skin, different from his usual robes that he wore for teaching, although they had been made from the best materials as well. He didn’t even want to know what this robe had cost his father, for it was surely an immensely high sum. 

“Oh my God.” 

Phichit had opened the door to his room, only to promptly freeze in the doorframe.

Yuuri spun around. “I told you it’s-”

“Yuuri, you look fantastic!” Phichit exclaimed and jumped up and down on the spot, clapping his hands excitedly. “Now we only need to fix your hair and-”

“Gentlemen?” A deep, soothing voice coming from the apartment door interrupted them, and Yuuri and Phichit walked out to see who had come. Lord Giacometti stood there, impeccably dressed in a dark green robe with silver embroidery down the front that complimented his eyes.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, smiling as he looked them up and down. “And so very well dressed indeed. I must compliment you, Katsuki- _ sensei _ . The colour suits you very well. And the traditional cut as well.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said and blushed at the compliment. “What can I do for you, Mylord?”

“Ah, I thought that I should accompany you to the festival,” Lord Giacometti said. “To introduce you to the protocol for tonight. It is a special occasion, and the usual rules do not apply.”

“Oh.” Yuuri nodded, glancing at Phichit. “That is very kind of you, Mylord.”

“No problem,” Lord Giacometti said and opened the door. “Shall we?”

Yuuri quickly combed back his hair and followed after the king’s advisor and his friend, listening carefully as Lord Giacometti spoke, his tone light and full of pleasant anticipation of the evening waiting for them.

“The solstice festivities are much anticipated every year, especially by the children. It is an evening full of music, dance, and entertainment for the guests as well as for the royal family. The king loves his children, and therefore, he tries to make sure that the festivities are a success. But it is also an evening of making good impressions. A few selected members of high families have been invited. Since these festivities are considered a very private affair, receiving an invitation is considered a great honour. I do not have to tell you that by inviting you, the king demonstrates the faith he puts in both of you.” 

“It’s a huge honour for us, Mylord,” Phichit assured him. Lord Giacometti smiled at them before he continued. 

“The usual fall before the king is not necessary tonight - not that you’ve ever followed the protocol to that extent, anyway,” Lord Giacometti chuckled and looked at Yuuri. “His majesty will probably call for you at some point during the evening. The seat beside him will be empty, to honour the memory of the queen. You must not take her seat, even if he asks you to sit by him. Sit on the other side of the king instead, even if there is no free seat. Kneel on the floor until a servant brings you a cushion.”

They had reached the end of the hallway and the gates that led into the public garden where the festivities were taking place. Yuuri could already hear the music, and the excited squeals of the children.

“One more thing,” Lord Giacometti said. “But this is only for the sake of completeness. No matter how much alcohol you may consume tonight: the king’s women, regardless of their rank, are off-limits.”

“Of course,” Phichit smiled while Yuuri only blinked in confusion. Had he ever left the impression on anyone that he was interested in one of the women?

“Well, then.” And with that, the guards opened the gates for them and Lord Giacometti led them into the garden.

“Ah!”

Something large and incredibly fluffy had thrown itself against Yuuri, knocking him over. “What the…” The thing began to lick over his face, much to the delight of the people around them. Yuuri pushed the creature back, sitting up as he realised that he’d been knocked over by a large dog with the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen in an animal.

“Well, hello there!” Yuuri chuckled and scratched the dog behind the ear, earning a happy bark. “Who are you?”

“Makkachin!” Lord Giacometti laughed and pulled the dog back by the collar. “That’s the king’s dog. She’s usually with him wherever he goes. I take it that you haven’t met her yet?”

Yuuri got up and brushed the dirt from his clothes. “Not yet, no,” he said. 

“She’s been in the care of healers recently, after stealing some food she shouldn’t have from Prince Georgi’s desk,” Lord Giacometti explained and let the dog go, who ran off to play with the excited children. “His majesty was incredibly upset. She means a lot to him.”

Lord Giacometti descended the last few steps into the garden and led Yuuri and Phichit towards a bunch of tables where the women and children sat, enjoying their meal while watching a few acrobats performing their art. They waved excitedly at the sight of their teacher, and Yuuri followed Lord Giacometti to a vacant table near Lady Alyona and her newborn. From there, they had an excellent view of the entire feast, including the guests that the king had invited. Russian nobility was something both Yuuri and Phichit found hard to get used to, for their attitude and demeanour was very different from Japanese courtiers, and they often seemed to regard foreigners with great caution. Among them, sitting at a table on a dais was Victor, his hair shining bright in the light of the lanterns. A golden crown with long pendants hanging from both sides framed his face perfectly, and his blue eyes sparkled in glee as he laughed at something the man a few seats away from him had said. Just as Lord Giacometti had said, the seat next to the king was empty, but the table had been set nonetheless. To Yuuri, it was an incredibly beautiful gesture to honour the memory of the late queen. Beside the dais sat Mila, dressed in a gorgeous blue gown. As Victor’s preferred wife, she had every right to sit so close to him, it seemed. A few seats away sat Guang Hong, his eyes set on the musicians, a certain forlornness in them that Yuuri had seen on him before. 

“Now that is what I call a feast,” Phichit hummed and thanked the servant that poured them a drink. “And Yuuri, you look fantastic in that robe.”

“Yuu-li!” Rozalina had jumped onto his back from behind. “Yuu-li! I want to be an arcocat when I’m big!”

“Acrobat, Princess,” Yuuri corrected her softly and shifted so that she could sit beside him. “But I’m not so sure if your father would agree to that. Surely you could become something even better.”

Rozalina frowned, seeming to think about it for a moment. “I could become a teacher like you!” She exclaimed and began to smile. “Yes! I will be a teacher like you, Yuu-li!”

“Not everyone has to become a teacher, Princess,” he said. “My friend Phichit here, for example, is a historian. He works in the library.”

“In the lababy?” Rozalina repeated and looked at Phichit with wide eyes. “Daddy says I can’t go there yet! Only when I’m as big as Yura, then I can go! But Yura is never going there, he only ever plays with Beka!”

She pointed at a table in the distance, where Yuri and Otabek had begun to build something made of the fruit in the bowls before them while the prince’s governess watched helplessly. 

“It is good that he has found a friend.” Lady Mila had joined them at their table, and Rozalina promptly climbed into her lap to play with her necklace.

“Lady Mila,” Yuuri said, bowing to her. “And yes. I’m surprised myself.”

“Don’t even get me started about his majesty,” Lady Mila chuckled. “He’s over the moon that the prince has found a friend. In the past, we’ve tried to introduce him to the sons of other courtiers but Yura would never accept them. To be fair, most of them were terribly spoiled and couldn’t take any of Yura’s… jests.” 

Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh at that. It was true, Prince Yuri had a very special sense of humour, and could often be mean without intending it. For someone like him, it took a very special person to become his friend. 

“But Otabek seems unfazed by it all,” Mila said, running her hands through Rozalina’s curls. “You found him on the ship that brought you here, I’ve heard.”

“He worked there,” Yuuri said. “We… we couldn’t leave him there.”

“Yuuri-kun has a big heart,” Phichit threw into the conversation. 

“That much is true,” Mila agreed and let Rozalina go, who had decided she wanted to cuddle with Makkachin under a tree. “It is not easy to deal with them all. But you do it so well, sensei. I sometimes wonder how I do it.”

“Which ones are yours, Lady Mila?” Phichit asked, and Yuuri wanted to punch him for such an impolite, direct question. 

But Mila only shrugged. “Oh, none of them,” she said. “I don’t have any children by his majesty.”

That was an answer that surprised Yuuri greatly, for she was Victor’s preferred wife. They had all seen how he was with her, pressing small kisses to her forehead or temple. 

“I know this must be surprising,” Mila said and took a sip from her cup. “But the truth is that I do not wish to have any. I don’t think I would be a good mother if I had any of my own. His majesty respects that. And I dare to say that he has enough wives that are perfectly happy to give him as many children as he wishes.” 

“That’s interesting,” Phichit said. “I thought you had no choice in the matter.”

Mila raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it is that way in Japan, or Thailand, or anywhere else,” she said softly, but not sounding unfriendly or hurt. “But consent is a serious matter, even here.”

Someone then called Mila’s name, and she excused herself before rising and walking away to pull two fighting princes apart.

“Huh.” Phichit leant back and sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Who would have thought that.”

Yuuri, however, did not find it hard to believe. Victor did not seem the type to force himself on anyone, although he doubted that most of the women would deny him a night with them. After all, he was a king. 

The festival continued, and Yuuri found himself relaxing more and more. Every now and then, the children would come to talk to him, some of them dragging him with them for a game. Especially Rozalina seemed determined to have the night of her life, and she declared that she would not rest until she had taught Yuuri her very own dance.

“She has wrapped you around her little finger, it seems!”

Yuuri looked up from where he stood by the pond with the princess, meeting the king’s amused gaze. Rozalina giggled and rushed to hug her father’s legs. “I’ve been teaching Yuu-li my dance!”

“Oh, which one?” Victor asked and crouched down to her level. “The dragon dance? The fairy dance?”

“The sun dance!” Rozalina exclaimed. 

Victor gasped. “The sun dance! The most complicated and most beautiful one of them all! You must show it to Lady Mila, then. Just imagine what she’ll say!”

“Oh yes!” Rozalina gasped and ran off in search for the woman. Victor laughed and rose again, clasping his hands behind his back as he watched her go. 

“She’s quite a handful, isn’t she?” He said to Yuuri who had quickly smoothed out his clothing while the king hadn’t been watching. “She’s always so energetic. But her mother was just the same. She couldn’t sit still.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Yuuri said and clasped his hands demurely, following the princess with his gaze. She had found Lady Mila, and was now demonstrating her new dance. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” Victor asked, and once more, Yuuri was amazed how smoothly the Japanese language seemed to roll off his tongue. “I’ve asked the kitchens to prepare some dishes that are known in Japan.”

“I saw, thank you,” Yuuri replied. “It was delicious.”

“Maybe I should ask for Thai cuisine next,” Victor mused and began to walk away from the pond, settling in a slow, casual pace. “For your friend, Chulanont. But I heard that he grew up with you in Japan?”

“That is correct,” Yuuri confirmed and joined the king for his walk through the garden. “His father knew my father, and when he died, he sent his son to live with us.”

“So he must be like a brother to you,” Victor concluded. “I know the feeling well. My uncle’s wife, Duchess Lilia, died when Prince Georgi was merely four years old. We grew up together, and my mother treated Georgi as if he were her own son. My father was not happy about it, but my mother would not hear any of it.” He sighed softly. “That is why I’m glad that Lady Mila takes a liking in caring for Yura. She may not be his mother, but I believe that if there is a woman of mine that my son trusts the most, then it is her.”

Yuuri nodded. “Lady Mila told me that she doesn’t have any children of her own,” he said. “But that she enjoys taking care of them all.”

“She claims that she would be a terrible mother,” Victor said. “I told her that this surely wouldn’t be the case, for I’ve seen how she is even with the little ones. But she’s always had a mind of her own, and who am I to try and understand the depths of a woman’s heart?”

They had reached a small fountain surrounded by lanterns, where a few of the children were trying to let a paper boat sail. Victor regarded them fondly, and Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder where the rumours about the king had come from. The man he’d gotten to know was anything but moody and fickle. No, he was kind, and soft-spoken, albeit with a very interesting sense of humour. 

“But then again,” Victor added, withdrawing his gaze from the children and returning it to Yuuri, “the hearts of men are not easy to decrypt either. Sometimes, it seems they are an even bigger mystery. For men are taught to hide their feelings, and their true desires.”

Yuuri knew nothing to say to that, afraid that anything coming out of his mouth in such a conversation could be interpreted wrong. But it was true. Men were a mystery, just like women, and their deepest motivations and the secrets of their souls were almost impossible to be found and thoroughly understood.

For the best example was standing before him, in the shape of a king.

“He’s very beautiful, isn’t he?”

The king’s words pulled Yuuri out of his thoughts again, and he quickly followed the man’s gaze. Guang Hong was still sitting in the same space as before, now speaking quietly to a man to his right. Over the last few weeks, he had lost more of his childish features, revealing the young man that he was. A red robe complimented his fair skin, and the melancholy in his big, brown eyes posed another mystery to explore. 

“He is,” Yuuri agreed softly. “The colour suits him well.”

“Colours can only do so much,” Victor said, thoughtfully touching his cheek. “But beauty comes from within as well. There is a sadness about him I find most enchanting. You know… women possess this certain elegance. They all do. But men… men have this… this rawness on them. A certain vulnerability that I find most endearing.” He smiled, and Yuuri believed to see a certain longing in his eyes. 

“But what am I saying,” Victor said suddenly and looked at Yuuri again. “For you surely have no interest in such worldly matters, the scholar that you are. Or maybe your preference lies entirely in the realm of women?”

Yuuri felt himself blush, and oh, had it always been so warm outside tonight? 

“I… I don’t really have a preference,” Yuuri murmured eventually, trying his best to avoid the king’s gaze. But he could feel it on him nonetheless.

“Hmm,” Victor said. “How interesting.”

Just then, commotion coming from the other side of the garden interrupted them, and a rather upset wife of the king came running towards them. “Your majesty, the prince! And the boy, Otabek, they are not feeling well!”

Victor and Yuuri exchanged a confused look before rushing after the woman to see what had happened, following her through the crowd to the other side of the garden. The people quickly moved out of their way, whispering behind their hands at the sight of the king and the  _ teacher  _ of all people to be running right behind him. But Yuuri couldn’t have cared less in this moment.

Prince Yuri and Otabek had curled up behind a bush in a more hidden part of the garden, coughing and puking out what had been in their stomachs while holding onto a tree. 

“What happened with you?” Yuuri asked worriedly and grabbed Otabek and Yuri by the shoulders, immediately worrying about poison in the food, or anything else. 

But there, on the floor between the boys, lay two lit cigars, the smoke still rising from their ends. 

Yuuri blinked, looking up at the king, who apparently didn’t seem to know whether to laugh or scold the boys.

“I- s-sorry!” Prince Yuri breathed before throwing himself behind the bush again as he lost the control over his stomach once more. Promptly, Otabek did the same, and narrowly avoided Yuuri’s shoes.

“Oh dear,” Victor sighed and finally stepped closer, shaking his head. “Two young boys wanting to be big, it seems.” He knelt down beside his son and pulled him to his feet, patting his back ever so gently.

“What were you two thinking, Otabek?” Yuuri asked his protegée and helped him stand.

“Nothing, obviously,” the king remarked and lifted Yuri into his arms. “Everything’s fine!” He called out to the people that had worriedly gathered around them. “Just two boys doing silly things.” 

The prince made a weak sound, clutching tightly onto his father. 

“There, there,” Victor murmured. “ _ Sensei _ , the room of the prince is closest. Let us take them there.”

Yuuri nodded and made an attempt to pick Otabek up, but the boy shook his hand and began to walk on his own, merely firmly holding onto Yuuri’s hand. And so, their little procession made their way through the garden towards the sanctuary and to the prince’s bedroom. It was like a palace of its own, but definitely the room of a child, with toys and books scattered all over the place.

“I don’t know, should we call for a healer?” Victor asked as he put his son down on his bed, where Otabek joined him with a soft groan. 

Yuuri shook his head. “All they need is plenty of water, fresh air, and a bowl ready for them next to the bed in case they feel sick again.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you are speaking from personal experience.”

Yuuri blushed. “Well… when Phichit and I were little, we were allowed to smoke from the pipe of my father. We felt miserable afterwards.”

Together, they helped the boys out of their clothes and gave them the water the servants had quickly gotten for them before tucking them in. Yuri sniffed and curled up at Otabek’s side, refusing to let go.

“And what do we learn from this?” Victor asked his son softly, running his hands through the boy’s blonde hair. “No more smoking for you. Maybe when you’re older."

Away from the crowds, and away from the curious eyes of the people around them, Yuuri couldn’t help but admire the way the king spoke to his son. Not being a monarch but only a father that helped his son through his foolish mistakes. Victor was looking at Yuri fondly, caressing his hair and cheek as the boy kept coughing, his small fists burying themselves into the fabric of Otabek’s shirt. 

It seemed that deep down, even the sternest king was also only a loving, and ever worrying father. 

A gentle knock on the door demanded Victor’s attention, and a servant came in to tell them that a messenger had arrived. 

Victor sighed. “It seems that I have to go back,” he said and rose from his son’s bed. 

Yuuri nodded. “I will stay with them. Until they’ve fallen asleep, at least.”

Victor regarded him most thoughtfully for a moment, and Yuuri wondered if he was about to tell him to go back to his own rooms. But instead, the king nodded.

“A good idea,” he said. “At least one of us should watch over the little fools.” 

Yuuri chuckled at that, looking down at Otabek and Yuri who had moved even closer to each other in their attempt to get some rest. 

“Oh, and  _ sensei _ ?” 

Yuuri looked up again, finding the king standing in the doorframe, regarding him intently.

“Your robe suits you very well,” Victor said, his voice like velvet. “You look most divine.”

The darkness hid the blush that spread across Yuuri’s face at the king’s words, but before he had the chance to thank the man for his compliment, Victor had walked out of the room, and into the night.

* * *

 

In an amused note sent to him by the king a few days later, Yuuri learnt that the prince had apparently renounced all sorts of tobacco for good.

* * *

 

As a child, Ji Guang Hong had been called the ‘little nightingale’, for his voice was the most lovely and clearest of them all. He was a boy that liked to laugh, yet who was shy and blushed easily when being approached unexpectedly. And still, despite not being the strong boy his father had hoped for, he had been cherished for just being who he was. Quiet and soft-spoken, preferring the quiet of the garden over the loud games of his brothers, he had grown up most sheltered, now knowing pain, not knowing fear.

But now, the nightingale had become a man. A man that had never been so afraid in his life before, and whose desperation threatened to overpower him any second.

“Be not afraid, blessed one,” the woman before him said softly, her fingertips ever so lightly brushing over his arm. “His majesty is a very gentle and most gracious lover."

But no words, no well-meaning caresses could stop the boy from shaking. Nonetheless, he nodded, trying to be brave, hoping to appease them at least for now. For if he upset the man that owned him, he would only bring dishonour to his family. A family he had not seen in such a long time, and that he missed so terribly.

They had prepared him beautifully, dressing him in the softest, lightest gown, combing his hair and painting his lips, all for the man that would come to see him and to enjoy him. Guang Hong knew that for most, this was an honour they would gladly kill or die for. To lie with the king, if even for one night only, was what they understood as happiness, and as a blessing from the Heavens.

But the fear held Guang Hong in its firm grasp, restricting his throat, and keeping him from crying out his pain.

At the sound of footsteps in the hallway the men and women pulled away, only a single hand lingering on his shoulder a little longer before it was gone as well, and Guang Hong was alone. He swallowed thickly, bowing merely seconds before the door was opened and his majesty entered the bedchamber of his concubine. Guang Hong felt his heart beat rapidly in his chest as he kept his head lowered, his palms pressed together in deference to both the Heavens in the king. 

The bed dipped under the weight of his sovereign, and soft hands embraced his own.

“Guang Hong,” said the king, his voice ever so soft and his hands ever so gentle as he grasped the boy’s chin and lifted it lightly, fingertips brushing over his cheekbones. Guang Hong began to tremble even more, he bit down on his lip to stop the sobs from escaping him, but the tears came nonetheless, rolling down his cheeks and staining the pale hand of his sovereign.

He was the most ungrateful, and most disgraceful son a father could have the misfortune to have. Crying in front of the Divine, disrespecting his presence, with no control over his emotions. And yet, there was nothing that he could do. For he had become the rightful property of this man, given to him as a gift.

Guang Hong closed his eyes, trying to forget where he was, and who he had been. He locked Ji Guang Hong away in his heart, in a final attempt to protect him.

The hands of the Divine left him, and the weight of him shifted on the mattress as the king undoubtedly moved into a more comfortable position for himself, to undress the man in front of him and take what rightfully was his.

A warm, soft blanket was put around his shoulders instead. Guang Hong froze in shock, not daring to move as the man draped the velvet around him, as if to keep him warm. 

Once more, a hand came to touch his face, caressing his cheek ever so lightly. Guang Hong opened his eyes.

The king sat before him, the eyes of the Divine full of warmth and sympathy as the young concubine looked at him in shock and confusion. 

“Oh, Guang Hong,” Victor said quietly, leaning forward to kiss the boy’s forehead. “No harm shall ever come to you in this place.” 

Guang Hong shivered as the king’s lips brushed his skin, his touch almost burning. And then, the king let go of him again, rising from the bed and turning away, walking out of the room and closing the door behind him carefully.

For a moment, Guang Hong stared at the closed door, unable to comprehend what had just happened. 

And then, the tears started to flow and the sobs to escape, no matter how hard the boy tried to suppress them. He broke down on the bed, clutching the pillow as if it were the only thing to keep him from drowning, his desperate cries echoing through the night as his heart ached for the life that he had lost, and for the man that he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mic drop*


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in time before the weekend! It was super difficult for me to write this chapter, but I hope that you like it.

**Four**

* * *

 

Summer lay in its final breaths, welcoming Autumn like the oncoming storm that it was - with caution, hesitantly giving up what had once belonged to it. But the leaves were changing, the winds turning, the sun hiding and the clouds rising. And yet, the grass was still warm under the feet of the children, the sunlight still kissing their faces, warm breezes playing with their hair.

For Yuuri, it was the first autumn he would experience in Russia. He had been very much looking forward to it, for the descriptions he had found of it in travel journals had made it appear most delightful. A time of getting together, taking things slower, to reflect on what truly mattered and what had become obsolete. 

At the same time, he began to miss his family more than ever before. The cause of it was a letter that had arrived all of a sudden, delivered by a servant on a golden tray. Yuuri, surprised to receive anything of the sort, had ripped the scroll open curiously, only to reveal the rather masculine, almost sloppy handwriting of his dearly beloved sister Mari.

Mari was not a woman of many words, and each time she did actually sit down to write a letter, it was an important one. This time, she informed him of what had been going on at home during his absence, that his mother was fine and his father as hardworking as ever. But that there were also shifts in the overall atmosphere that she could not quite explain, things that not even her husband would talk to her about. Yuuri liked the man, for he was good to his sister and treated her equal to himself. But if he would not even tell her, the woman that he respected and probably even loved, what was going on behind closed doors, then it surely had to be something serious. None of this, as Mari assured him several times over the course of her letter, had to do with the relations to the Russians, most likely, but she had wanted to let him know regardless. 

The last few lines concerned their private lives. Mari was still childless, which did not seem to bother her much, but their mother all the more, who desperately hoped for grandchildren. Furthermore, their father seemed paler than usual, as if he were barely getting any sleep. 

Mari had then closed her letter with a few well-meaning words of advice, albeit not with her usual sarcastic undertone. 

The letter now lay beside Yuuri on his bed table, its content almost screaming at him in the silence of the night. 

If even Mari began to worry, and their father’s health was declining, something was going on.

* * *

 

The fact that they had actual access to the shore of the ocean within the walls of the palace complex had amazed Yuuri at the beginning, for he could not imagine such a thing to ever happen in Japan. There, they had perhaps a pond or two, and several ornamental bridges. But here, everything was a little bigger, more extravagant, showing off, demonstrating status and power. The shore was no exception of it, hidden away in the vast gardens connected to the sanctuary. 

And it was the perfect place for nightly contemplation.

Yuuri had not bothered to get dressed properly for his nightly walk, for the palace was asleep and merely a handful of guards was patrolling through the hallways. None of them stopped him on his walk, moving out of the way wordlessly. Over the course of the last few weeks, most people had finally come to accept him, some courtiers even greeting him politely when coming his way. But now, the palace was quiet, and the only sound came from the sea, the water whispering in the light of the moon.

As a child, he had often spent time in a small town by the seaside. Hasetsu had been the refuge of his childhood, a place where his mother had taken him and Mari to escape the city. Phichit had accompanied them after joining their family, and they had spent many happy hours at the beach, bathing in the ocean or building towers made of sand. 

There was barely any sand here, but the scent of salt in the air made Yuuri feel as if he were in Hasetsu again.

The letter safely stored away in his clothing, Yuuri lifted the hem of his yukata and approached the water. 

“I knew this night was far too beautiful to spend it indoors.”

Yuuri almost had a heart attack at the sudden interruption, for he spun around and saw the king, sitting rather casually on a low wall just a few meters away from him. At Yuuri’s reaction, he laughed and slowly stood, smoothing out his clothing and taking the lantern he’d brought with him. It was the most casual that Yuuri had ever seen on him, light and loosely cut around the middle. 

“Forgive me,” Victor said as he approached him. “I did not mean to scare you. But it seems that you were not able to sleep, either.”

Yuuri, whose heart was still beating rapidly in his chest, hurried to bow to the king in an attempt to save at least some of his reputation. “G-good evening, your majesty.”

Victor greeted him with a smile, a smile so very different from the one he’d seen on the king before. This one was not forced, not part of the mask that he showed to the world. This was not the smile of a king, but of a man only. A man that stood before him, clad in what appeared to be his lounging clothes, sand and dirt sticking to his bare feet.

“I must say your attire is most interesting,” Victor said, raising the lantern and studying Yuuri from head to toe. “Is that what I think it is? A kimono?”

“Huh?” Yuuri blinked in surprise, looking down at himself. “Oh! No, that… that’s a yukata. Similar to a kimono, but made of cotton.”

“Oh, I see,” Victor nodded, his interested awakened. “So kimono are made of silk, and yukata of cotton. And yukata are sleepwear, I take it?”

“N-not necessarily,” Yuuri explained, stepping closer. “It is worn during the day as well. Many people both sleep and work in the same yukata.”

“But you are wearing it in the middle of the night,” Victor said with a chuckle. “So you are presenting yourself to the king in your nighties? How very endearing.” 

“I- I didn’t-” Yuuri stuttered, blushing all over, but the king merely laughed and shook his head. 

“Oh,  _ sensei _ , your blush is indeed most lovely,” he said, and Yuuri couldn’t help but shake off the feeling that the king enjoyed teasing him very much. What was it about him that made people believe he was great to make fun of?

But strangely, it did not feel like an insult when it was the king. 

“Ah, it is most fortunate that I have found you here,” Victor said then, and reached into his sleeve. Yuuri frowned, watching as the king produced a letter from it. “I received it this morning, and have been studying it since then. But there are far too many kanji in it that are entirely foreign to me, and I fear that I have misplaced my copy of the  _ jisho _ .”

Victor held the letter out to him. “Please, read it to me. If you please.”

Yuuri hesitated for a moment, not sure if it was appropriate if he, a mere teacher, read the correspondence of the king. But Victor kept holding the letter out for him, and so, he took it, unfolding it carefully.

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “It’s from-”

“Indeed,” Victor nodded. “Please read.” He held up the lantern to provide Yuuri with light, and the teacher began to read.

 

_ Most honourable King of the Divine, _

_ We were saddened to hear of the attacks taking place across the borders of Russia, for We condemn violence in all of its forms. The deaths of innocent women and children has shocked the population of Japan, and We shall forever include them in our thoughts and prayers. _

_ The bonds between our people have always been strong ones, and shall be strengthened further. Therefore, We would be delighted to accept your invitation and send a delegation to Russia to nurture our trust and love for one another. _

 

“Katsutame, Emperor of Japan,” Yuuri breathed, looking up at Victor with wide eyes. “Your majesty, what- what kind of attacks?”

Victor lowered the lantern again. “There have been attacks across the northern borders. We haven’t been able to determine their origin yet, but we are working on it.” He took the letter from Yuuri, his eyes scanning it carefully. “There’s a Japanese delegation coming to Russia, then. I’m glad that they have accepted the invitation.”

Yuuri studied the king with wide eyes, not understanding how the man could remain so calm when they were people being killed. And that no one, apparently, had learnt about them except for the king and his most trusted advisors. And Yuuri now as well, for some reason.

“When someone who has a lot to say says nothing, their silence can be deafening.”

Victor’s voice pulled Yuuri out of his thoughts once more, and he found the king studying him intently. “It seems that you have received a letter today as well?”

“Huh?” Yuuri blinked. “How do you-”

“It is currently threatening to fall out your absolutely scandalously revealing cleavage,” Victor smirked, and Yuuri immediately looked down to his chest where indeed, the letter of his sister was about to fall out. He quickly grabbed it and hid it in his hands. 

“Is it bad news from home?” Victor asked, his voice now very soft and empathetic. 

“N-no,” Yuuri mumbled, looking down at the paper in his hand. “Just a letter from my sister about this and that.”

“I see,” Victor nodded. “You have a sister, then? What is her name? Is she older or younger than you?”

“Mari,” Yuuri answered. “She’s older than me. Married, of course. To a samurai.”

“To a samurai?” Victor repeated and his entire face lit up. “Wow! Amazing!”

There it was again - the simple happiness that so very often spread across the king’s face whenever he was amazed by something he didn’t know. The smile that he showed when Rozalina ran towards him to show him the picture she had drawn, the sparkle that appeared in his eyes whenever Yuri made progress. 

“He’s only their third-born son,” Yuuri explained. “So he does not hold much power, but he’s a good man. He respects my sister, and I’m very grateful for that.”

Victor regarded Yuuri with a long, thoughtful look, as if he were contemplating what to say to that. “You may invite your sister, if you wish,” he said then. 

Yuuri blushed. “That… that is very kind of you, but I think she’s… too occupied. And at least one of us should stay near my mother.”

“You must miss your family very much."

“I do,” Yuuri admitted, feeling his heart ache at the thought of them. “But being here is a great honour. And I am happy here.”

A hand came to rest on his arm, and the king looked down at Yuuri ever so warmly. “I’m happy that you are here, too,  _ sensei _ . The children love you. Even Yura. He… He asks many questions these days. Watches what I do. He’s changed.” Yuuri was not sure if this was something the king approved of, not that he had been able to focus on what he was saying anyway. His hand on his arm was an almost burning touch, one that set his heart aflame, for a reason that he could not yet understand. 

And then it was gone again, leaving his arm incredibly cold.

“Would you help me and my advisors to prepare for the Japanese delegation?” Victor asked, clasping his hands behind his back. “You are the expert here, knowing the ways and traditions of the Japanese like no other. We want them to feel at home here, and impress them with our hospitality. Please, Yuuri.”

Yuuri bowed his head. “Of course I will help you, your majesty.”

Victor smiled at that, obviously very pleased with the answer. “I’m glad to hear that. But now I believe we should both return to the warmth of our beds, before the guards over there begin to wonder what on earth we are doing out here at two in the morning, in nothing but our nighties.”

Yuuri turned dark red again and began to stutter an answer, but the king only laughed and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. 

“Oh, your blush is most divine indeed,” he said with a wink and lifted his lantern again to look the other in the eye. In the warm light of the lantern, his pale face was even more beautiful than usual. “Good night, Yuuri.”

“G-Good night, your majesty,” the teacher hurried to say, bowing in the fashion of his people as the king walked past him and up the path back towards the palace.

Yuuri waited until the man was out of sight, and for his heart to stop beating so rapidly, before making his way back himself, holding the letter of his sister firmly in his hand.

It was only then that Yuuri realised that the king had called him by his given name for the very first time.

And that his heart, his oh so treacherous heart, had soared at the sound of it.

* * *

 

As much as it unsettled Yuuri that he did not know what to think of his heart, he did not have any time to waste. After the Japanese court had confirmed the arrival date of the delegation, he had gone straight to work, assisting the Russian government in the preparations for the visit. 

Those preparations turned out to be far greater than he had expected. Not only had the entire palace to be instructed on Japanese protocol, but the entire royal family as well. The king insisted on having the children around during the visit to get them used to such affairs, and that meant that Yuuri spent every single day teaching the women and children the ways of his people. It turned out to be a lot of fun. None of them had ever eaten with chopsticks before except for the Crown Prince, and so, Yuuri watched in amusement as the children and their mothers tried to have their meals with them, laughing and becoming frustrated at the same time. Afterwards, they practised how to do the perfect bow, how to address the Japanese officials according to their different positions, and much more. The women and children were eager students, and Yuuri was sure that they wouldn’t have any problems. 

On top of all these practical lessons, Yuuri had decided to follow the king’s suggestion and had studied a Japanese song with the children to perform at the welcome banquet. It was adorable to hear them sing what Yuuri had been taught himself, and he was sure that the delegation would love the performance. 

Of course, Princess Rozalina was the one who sang the loudest, and after a successful practise, she ran up to Yuuri and told him in excited and fluent Japanese how much she was looking forward to their performance. “And there will be lots of Russian dances!” She said. “Then you can dance with me!”

Yuuri smiled. “I’m afraid but I can’t dance,” he said. 

Rozalina gasped. “But you have to dance!” She insisted. “You have to dance with a pretty lady!”

“Really?” Lady Mila had come to stand beside them, putting the children’s latest homework down on Yuuri’s desk. “You cannot dance,  _ sensei _ ?”

Yuuri shook his head. “In Japan, we don’t dance like you do,” he said. 

“You mean, not arm in arm?” Mila asked curiously. “You really should learn it. It is a firm custom here to dance at a banquet. Who knows if you’ll be asked to dance by a lovely lady like Princess Rozalina here?”

Yuuri scratched the back of his head. “Well… I suppose I could try,” he agreed. “It certainly won’t hurt to know a few steps…”

Mila clapped her hands excitedly. “Perfect! See me later in the afternoon, then.”

“And me!” Rozalina exclaimed as she was lifted into Mila’s arms. “We can dance too!”

“Of course we can,” Yuuri assured the little girl and returned to his desk as Mila walked away with the princess to take her to lunch. 

His desk was covered in countless drawings by the children, as well as their latest homework and Yuuri’s personal notes. The paperwork was the one thing that Yuuri liked the least about his job, but it had to be done. Sometimes, Otabek helped him, although Yuuri never asked him to. 

The sound of several books falling over caused Yuuri to turn around, finding the young Guang Hong by the bookshelves, trying to balance a pile of dictionaries. 

“Oh, let me help you!” Yuuri rushed over to the bookshelves, taking half of Guang Hong’s load to put it away. The boy blushed and thanked Yuuri quietly, returning the books they had used during the lesson to their places. Yuuri couldn’t help but notice the shadows under Guang Hong’s eyes, and the paleness of his tender face, as if he had not been sleeping at all for days without end. 

Perhaps, Yuuri thought, the young man was lonelier than he let people know.

“Guang Hong,” Yuuri said softly, switching to Chinese. It was a language he did not use very often, but it had been a mandatory part of his curriculum as a child. “Is everything alright? You don’t look very well.”

Guang Hong stared at his teacher with wide eyes at the sudden change in language, and he opened his mouth in surprise. “You…  _ sensei _ , you speak…”

“Not very well, but it is enough,” Yuuri said with a reassuring smile, touching Guang Hong’s arm. “But I mean it. You don’t look well these days. Is everything alright? Can I help you in any way?”

The melancholy in Guang Hong’s eyes that the king had talked about was even more evident in them in this moment, now that Yuuri was standing so close to him. The boy looked as if he were about to cry any moment, for his lower lip quivered, his eyes became glassy, and a tiny, barely audible sniff escaped him.

“Oh, Guang Hong,” Yuuri said softly and took the boy’s hands, pulling him deeper into the pavilion to shield him from the view of others. There, in the safety of their reading corner, he sat the boy down on the sofa and rubbed his back in soothing circles. Guang Hong had buried his face in his hands, crying ever so quietly. Yuuri knew the signs of anxiety, and how one’s feelings could overwhelm even the strongest of men. And he knew that it was important to be patient, and to give reassurance.

“It…” Guang Hong sniffed, finally looking up. “It’s nothing, I’m just…”

Yuuri gently took the boy’s hand. “Do you miss your family?”

Guang Hong nodded, rubbing his eyes. “I haven’t seen them in months. I… I said goodbye but… but it’s not enough.”

Yuuri knew that feeling only too well. Except for the letter he had received from Mari, he had not heard from his family since his departure. Usually, no news was good news, but that did not mean that he did not miss the warm smiles of his father, the hugs of his mother, and the witty remarks of his sister. 

“Tell me about them,” Yuuri encouraged the boy. “What is your family like?”

Guang Hong sniffed, dabbing his eyes with a silken handkerchief he had produced from his sleeve. “They are lovely,” he said quietly. 

“Do you have siblings?”

Guang Hong nodded. “I have three sisters and a brother. I’m… I’m the youngest so… so they could afford sending me here.” He looked down at his hands. “My father owes the Russian court a lot. He is a tea merchant, the wealthiest in China. The Russian court only drinks our tea. So to… to show the gratitude of our family, my… my father sent me to the king as a gift.”

It was a custom that was entirely foreign to Yuuri, for such things never happened at the Japanese court. Especially not to young men. But here, everything was different. Both Yuuri and Guang Hong had come to a place that was so very different from what they knew, and the young teacher could not help but feel sorry for the boy.

“You did not want to come here, I assume,” Yuuri said, gently rubbing Guang Hong’s back.

Guang Hong swallowed thickly. “No, but… but it is a great honour to serve the king. He… he is a good man. I… I now know that I don’t have to fear him. He is very good to me. He… he treats me with nothing but kindness.”

Yuuri smiled. “That’s something. He is very different from what I’ve been told at home. I have yet to see this moody side of him that everyone had been talking about. But maybe he is only like that when he isn’t with his family. Being a king must not be easy.”

“I suppose it is not,” Guang Hong murmured and folded his handkerchief neatly on his lap. “But being his concubine is not easy either.”

Yuuri did not know what to say to that. The other concubines that he knew seemed fairly happy with their lives, most of them women and mothers themselves, but then again, he could not assume that all of them felt the same. And Guang Hong, being so young and a man on top of that, surely felt incredibly isolated many times.

“ _ Sensei _ ,” Guang Hong said quietly, pulling him out of his thoughts. The boy had stopped crying, his eyes still a little red nonetheless. “I… I have written a letter to my family, but I don’t know how to… how to send it to them. Do you think you could…” He pulled out a small scroll from his pocket, showing it to Yuuri.

“Of course!” Yuuri nodded immediately. “I will post it for you.”

Guang Hong placed the scroll in Yuuri’s palm. “Thank you,  _ sensei _ ,” he said, smiling at his teacher for the first time. “I… I have a friend in you, yes?”

Yuuri took the boy’s hands into his own. “Of course you have a friend in me, Guang Hong. If you ever need to get something off your chest, or would like to speak Chinese, just come to me. Yes?”

Guang Hong nodded, bowing deeply to his teacher. “I will. Thank you,  _ sensei _ . Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

* * *

 

And suddenly, the night of the banquet had come.

The delegation of Japan had arrived in the early afternoon hours, with Victor greeting them personally the moment they set foot into the palace complex. Victor had insisted on Yuuri being present, allowing the teacher to stand near him as he welcomed their guests. Yuuri’s heart had jumped at the passionate, elegant sound of his mother tongue, and he had gasped at the sight of the people he knew, having to force himself not to run towards the woman that had taught him so much.

Okukawa Minako looked splendid in her black kimono in which she carried herself like an empress. Her husband, a Russian nobleman, followed close behind her as she walked up to the king of Russia and greeted him in a perfect bow and in fluent Russian. A few members of the Russian court whispered behind their king’s back about the woman’s behaviour, how she dared to walk before her husband, but Victor did not seem to mind at all. He bowed to Minako and then even offered her a handshake, before moving on to her husband and the Japanese officials. 

Yuuri had then taken the delegation to their quarters, using the opportunity to catch up with Minako. She had then introduced him her young assistant, Minami Kenjirou, whose older brother had also studied together with Yuuri at the Imperial Academy. Minami was overjoyed to be in Russia, and promptly tried out his Russian skills with the servants, who only looked at each other in confusion before Yuuri had the chance to tell them that Minami had not actually meant to call them a disoriented herd of cows.

But then, it had been time for Yuuri to return to his own rooms, and to prepare for the banquet. Whereas it had been difficult for him to choose something to wear for the solstice festivities, the choice for tonight was as clear as day.

And so, Yuuri had taken a bath, and had then gotten dressed. 

It had been some time since he had worn a kimono of this sort, for there really was never a reason to wear one in the palace, and wearing the robes usually worn in this kingdom proved to be far more practical. But for this special night, it only seemed appropriate to wear a kimono, the most festive one that he owned. Yuuri let the silk glide through his fingers as he pulled out the garment from its box, remembering the day he had gotten it as a gift from his mother, after graduating from the Imperial Academy. Both his mother and father had cried tears of joy, and Mari had teasingly smacked the back of his head, telling him that he now only had to learn how to get a girl. Of all the things Yuuri had brought with him from Japan, the kimono was the one thing most precious to him. 

Wearing it now gave him some sense of stability, a kind of assurance. For tonight, he could be who he was, and not stand out awkwardly for it.

“Yuuri, are you ready? We’re already a little late and-” Phichit entered the room and stopped in his tracks, looking his friend up and down.

“Is something wrong?” Yuuri asked, self-consciously touching the hem of his sleeve. 

Phichit shook his head. He stepped closer, carefully cupping Yuuri’s cheeks and kissing him on the lips. “You look beautiful, Yuuri.”

Yuuri blushed, lowering his gaze. “I hope I won’t stand out too much.”

Phichit raised an eyebrow. “With the Lady Minako present? Give her some sake and no one will look at anyone but her.”

Yuuri laughed, remembering how his former mentor was famous for overdoing with when it came to alcohol. 

“Now come,” Phichit said, taking his friend’s hand. “Before you start overthinking things again. They are waiting for you.”

“For us, you mean,” Yuuri frowned, following him out of the apartment.

Phichit laughed, muttering something under his breath that Yuuri did not understand.

* * *

 

It was the most magnificent banquet the Russian court had seen in decades. 

The ballroom had been richly decorated, combining the best of both realm. They had created a different, magical world within the palace walls, allowing them all to forget themselves for a night. Yuuri could hear the laughter of the guests and the gentle tunes of the Japanese koto as he ascended the stairs together with Phichit. He could not deny that he was grateful for his friend’s presence, for he was incredibly nervous. Everything had to be perfect tonight. Strengthening the bonds between Russia and Japan was incredibly important, and even a small faux pas could ruin it all.

“Katsuki- _ sensei _ , there you are!” Lord Giacometti walked towards them, impeccably dressed as always. “His majesty has requested your... presence at the main table.” He paused, looking Yuuri up and down, taking in his appearance.

Yuuri blinked in surprise, exchanging a look with Phichit. “If… If that is what his majesty wants,” Yuuri said nervously, adjusting his clothing. “Is… is something wrong with my clothing, Mylord?”

Lord Giacometti shook his head. “Not at all,  _ sensei _ ,” he assured him. 

“I’ll go and find my seat then,” Phichit said and let go of Yuuri. “I’ll see you later!”

Yuuri waved his friend goodbye, then turned to Lord Giacometti again to follow him to the main table. 

The king’s advisor studied him curiously, making Yuuri blush even more. “Pray tell, is Chulanont your lover?” He asked.

Yuuri’s eyes widened a little at such bluntness. “N-no!” He stuttered. “We are just friends!”

“I see.” Lord Giacometti winked and gestured at the last set of stairs that would take them to the ballroom. “Shall we?”

* * *

 

For Victor, it was a night of magnificence unseen before.

His wives had dressed in the most beautiful kimonos they had been able to find in such a short time, moving elegantly between their high guests, making conversation. The delegation of Japan seemed impressed by the work of the decorators, gasping behind their fans and admiring the Russian and Japanese artwork in the ballroom. Others had moved to the open side of the balcony, admiring the lanterns that had been put up in the garden, inviting the guests to take long walks down the endless paths. 

“Your majesty, I must say that you have outdone yourself,” a member of the Japanese delegation said to him with a bow. “This evening is a success already.”

It better had to be, Victor thought. After the terrible incidents at the northern provinces, it was important that they demonstrated their power, and their strong bonds with other realms such as the Japanese. 

“Thank you,” Victor smiled and bowed in return. “But you must not praise me, but the teacher of my children, Katsuki Yuuri.”

“Ah, yes! Katsuki-sama! A very well-known scholar at the Emperor’s court. I am glad to hear that you are pleased with him.

“Pleased is not even a good word to describe what he has done for Russia. Your fellow countryman has worked day and night to ensure-”

But Victor trailed off, distracted by gasps and excited murmurs coming from the other end of the balcony. Curiously, he turned his head, wondering what had caused such a commotion. Only as he moved a little forward, and the crowd parted for him, he was able to take in the beauty that had come into their midst.

Katsuki Yuuri had entered the ballroom, dressed in a beautiful black kimono with silver embroidery. His hair had been combed back neatly, and an ornamental sword adorned his waist, making him look like a creature one could only ever find in a forbidden tale.

Victor ignored the men he had been talking to, abandoning even Lady Mila as he made his way across the balcony towards the teacher. Upon coming closer, he noticed the blush that had spread over the young man’s face, adorning his cheeks in the most lovely way. Never before had Victor seen something so fragile, so beautiful before, and so incredibly far from his reach.

But for one night, this one night only, Victor could close his eyes and pretend that Yuuri was his.

“Your majesty,” Yuuri said softly, bowing in the most accomplished way as he came to stand before him. “Please forgive me, I did not realise it was so late already.”

“You came at precisely the right time, sensei,” Victor said and took his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to it. He did not care about the gasps of the people around them, nor about the looks that the Japanese delegation gave them. “You look most divine.”

The teacher blushed at his words, and Victor could not have been more delighted by it. Still holding the hand of the man in his own, he turned around to the crowd. 

“Most honourable guests,” he said, smiling the way he always did in public, perfect and proud. “I do not think I have to introduce you to the man that we all owe this wonderful evening to. Katsuki Yuuri, the most delightful thing to ever come out of Japan and to my court.”

The people laughed and applauded as Katsuki Yuuri blushed even more and tried to hide it by bowing profusely. To Victor, there was really no need for the man to do so, for he deserved the praise like no other. 

“Of course we know how much you owe him, your majesty,” Minako said, already a glass of wine in her hand as she studied Yuuri from head to toe. “We barely wanted to let him go.”

“I fully understand why!” Victor gave back and finally let go of Yuuri’s hand again, albeit most reluctantly. The man’s hand had been warm and tender, almost like a woman’s, but not quite. “But now, ladies and gentlemen, I suggest that we proceed with the banquet. Please, take your seats and enjoy the meal.”

* * *

 

The kitchens had outdone themselves, serving the best of both worlds. Japanese and Russians alike looked at the different dishes in wonder, hesitantly trying what they didn’t know before before taking more. Yuuri almost cried at the sight of katsudon, his favourite dish, and helped himself to a second portion immediately after emptying his bowl. The king’s women laughed at that, even warned him that he might put on weight if he kept eating like that, but Yuuri found that he didn’t mind. For the first time in months, he was surrounded by people that were just like him, that spoke like him and looked like him, and for this one night, he would pretend that he was in Japan again.

The king had seated him on the other side of the table, between Lady Minako and her husband, but with a perfect view of the head of the table where Victor sat with Mila and the man leading the delegation. Phichit was also there, at the other end of the table, near Lord Giacometti. Yuuri was glad that his friend seemed to enjoy himself, although his complexion and general foreign looks made him stand out quite a lot. Fortunately, the members of the delegation knew that Phichit had been the ward of Yuuri’s father, and therefore treated him with respect. The children had been seated on a large table to their left, their nurses supervising them and helping them eat. Otabek was among them, sitting next to Prince Yuri who seemed to talk to him without end these days, without the other boy ever replying. But Otabek seemed content, and Yuuri was grateful for it. 

Yuuri let his eyes wander, watching Guang Hong, who had a polite conversation with a man that Yuuri recognised as a secretary of the Emperor himself. Guang Hong looked a little better these days, now that he had been able to post the letter to his family. Every now and then, he would sit with Yuuri and help him with his work, such as looking through the kanji exercises that the children had to do. In these moments, they would speak to each other in Chinese, for Yuuri knew how much comfort it brought him.

When the dinner was over, Yuuri went to work once more, gathering the children opposite the high table so that they could perform what they had been practising for weeks. The boys and girls stood proudly as they sang the famous Japanese nursery rhyme, loud and sometimes rather off-key, but with such bright smiles on their faces that the people present could not help but be absolutely delighted. They applauded approvingly as the song ended, and the children took each other’s hands and bowed. The one clapping the loudest, however, was their father, and Yuuri could not help but admire the genuine, happy smile he saw on the man’s face.

Prince Yuri then stepped forward, quite obviously very nervous, for this was his very first public speech, despite it being only a single sentence long. “I-in the name of twenty-three brothers and sisters, I wish you a most entertaining evening.”

The people applauded again and the children bowed once more before walking off their little stage, guided by their nurses. 

Yuuri took his seat again and bowed quickly to the people congratulating him before looking up at Victor, who had raised his glass for a toast. 

“After such a lovely performance, how can this evening not be an entertaining one, I ask you?” He said, making the people laugh. “And I-”

“Father? Can I give you a good night kiss?” 

A very small voice interrupted the king, barely audible, but they heard it nonetheless. Victor turned around, and so did everyone else, only to find Princess Rozalina standing by the flowers, looking up at her father expectantly and shyly at once.

The reaction her innocent question caused followed in an instant. The women sighed softly and the men chuckled as the princess stood there, waiting patiently for permission.

Victor lowered his glass, putting it down on the table. “I hope you all understand that I cannot simply break with a family tradition,” he chuckled and then walked over to Rozalina, lifting her up in his arms, letting her kiss him on the cheek and cuddle him for a little bit. 

Yuuri’s heart ached at the sight. 

Victor nuzzled his daughter’s hair and kissed her forehead gently. “I’ll be in your dreams, little monkey,” he said. Rozalina beamed at him and hugged him tightly once more before she allowed him to put her down on the floor, from where she ran off to follow her siblings.

“A fine family you have there,” someone said in heavily accented Russian. Yuuri turned his head, recognising the man as a member of the Emperor’s outer chambers. Not really a politician, but a businessman first and foremost. And a rather drunk one on top of that.

“So many children,” he said, gripping his glass. “And so many wives and concubines, more than a single man could ever choose from! Every single one of them prettier than the one before, with their robes and the heavy jewellery and their lucky charms that they wear to protect themselves from us foreign devils, without any doubt!”

Yuuri wanted to die then and there.

The king eyed the man intently. “Yamada Ryosuke,” he said. “If I remember correctly.”

“Indeed, your majesty!” Yamada grinned, raising his glass a little too enthusiastically, causing the wine to overflow. “And I must say that you’ve arranged a great feast indeed!”

Victor grimaced. “I’m glad to hear that, Yamada-sama,” he said, reaching for his glass again to continue with his toast, but Yamada wouldn’t let him.

“I mean,” Yamada said with a hiccup, leaning forward in the most un-Japanese manner that Yuuri had ever seen, and his fellow countrymen and women stared at Yamada, absolutely mortified. “Russia’s great and everything. But nothing, really nothing can compare to Japan! It’s obvious that Japan is the superior nation. And that countries like Russia can only benefit from our influence.”

Yuuri had risen from his seat before he had even realised what he was doing. 

“Are we, really, Yamada-sama?” Yuuri asked him angrily. “Are we really the superior nation? What do you think gives you the right to propose such a thesis in the home of the man that has invited you to dine with him? Who lets you sit at his table and eat his food and enjoy what Russia has to offer, and this is how you thank him? By claiming that you are his superior?” 

By now, everyone was staring at him, many of the people around him even with open mouths, but Yuuri did not care, despite the fact that his hands were shaking and cold shivers were running down his spine. 

“Forgive me for speaking so freely, but how could anyone, ever, claim to be the superior nation, or even the superior race? Are we not all people in our own right, with our own history, traditions, and ways? Do we not benefit from exchanges like this, by learning the language of the other and sitting together as friends, to celebrate peace, and harmony?”

The Japanese at the table stared at him with wide eyes. Never, ever had one of them spoken so boldly, so freely in such a situation, without caring for protocol. No, from them Yuuri could not expect any help in this matter.

And so, his eyes found Victor’s. 

“Would you not agree, your majesty,” Yuuri breathed. 

Victor looked at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression, but with a gleam in his eyes that Yuuri believed to have seen before. It was more than just amusement, or surprise. Something that he could not define, but was grateful nonetheless.

“Indeed, I do agree,” Victor said. “For the words of Katsuki- _ sensei _ prove once more that wisdom indeed comes from those that are not only learned, but who also know how to speak with passion. We all learn from one another. In ways that we may not always be able to foresee.”

“Hear, hear,” Lord Giacometti commented, his remark breaking the awkward silence at the table and causing the others to join in.

Yuuri quickly sat down again, clasping his hands demurely on his lap. He couldn’t believe that he had allowed himself to speak so freely, in front of the entire delegation. This was not the sanctuary, this was an official banquet!

The king, however, did not seem to mind. “Now that we’ve sorted this out, I believe we should move on and listen to our musicians”, Yuuri heard him say as he kept staring at his plate. “And dance, of course.”

The women gasped in delight and began to chatter excitedly, debating with whom they would like to dance first, after the king had had his first dance with Lady Mila.

But it was not the Lady Mila that the king approached.

A slender, pale hand came into Yuuri’s view, causing him to look up.

Victor stood beside him, offering him his hand. “May I have this dance,  _ sensei _ ?”

Yuuri looked up at the king in shock, eyes wide, unable to believe what the king was asking of him. But there he stood, offering his hand to him expectantly, seemingly not caring that everyone, absolutely everyone was watching them.

“I- I feel most honoured, your majesty,” Yuuri stuttered. “But I would make a terrible dance partner.”

“You’ve had lessons with Lady Mila, have you not?” Victor’s eyes sparkled gleefully. “Please. For Russia and Japan.”

Now that he had put it like this, he had lured him into a trap, and Yuuri was unable to refuse. If he rejected the king’s offer, he would not only make a fool of himself, but of Japan as a whole, and it would be a disgrace they would not forget for as long as he lived. 

And so, Yuuri carefully put his hand into Victor’s and rose as gracefully as possible, allowing Victor to take him to the dance floor. He could feel everyone’s eyes on them, their gazes burning into the back of his head. From the corner of his eye, he could see Phichit and Lord Giacometti, both of him looking at them approvingly, albeit in very different versions. Phichit was grinning from ear to ear, while Lord Giacometti was regarding them thoughtfully with a hint of amusement on his face.

“I will take the lead,” Victor said softly as they positioned themselves for the dance, just seconds before the musicians began to play, and their dance began.

Yuuri reacted instinctively, intertwining his fingers with the king’s whilst the man’s other hand rested lightly on his waist, his touch almost burning through his clothing as if it were fire. Together, they moved slowly in the way that Mila had taught him, close to one another, with so little distance between them that any Japanese chaperone would have fainted on the spot. Never before had Yuuri been so close to the man, to the Divine himself, but now that he was, he found it incredibly difficult not to lose himself in his beautiful blue eyes. Victor’s hand was warm in his, his thumb brushing the back of his hand ever so lightly as they danced. And never, not even for a second, would the king take his eyes off Yuuri, not even for a second would he stop smiling. 

_ Oh, Yuuri _ , the teacher thought as he came to the realisation.  _ You have lost your heart to a king. _

“You do look most divine tonight,  _ sensei _ ,” Victor said quietly as they moved together to the music. “I was hoping to see you in a kimono for this occasion. I am glad that I was not disappointed.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly at the compliment, silently begging the gods not to make him blush that badly. “Thank you, your majesty,” he managed to reply. “You… you would surely look good in a kimono as well.”

“Maybe,” Victor mused with a chuckle and drew Yuuri a little closer. “But I like looking at you wearing it a lot more. You are truly a sight to behold tonight, Yuuri.”

There it was again, the shiver that ran down his spine each time Victor said his name. It rolled off the other man’s tongue so easily, with his slight Russian accent, making Yuuri’s heart soar.

“I am nothing compared to the women, your majesty,” Yuuri replied softly. “No one can compare to the beauty of Lady Mila or-”

“No man could ever compare to the beauty of a woman, Yuuri,” Victor interrupted him ever so gently. “But I am not comparing you to a woman, am I? You are beautiful in your own right. As it should be.”

The blush that spread over his face could not be denied anymore, and Yuuri lowered his gaze with burning ears. Never before had anyone praised him like that. Let alone called him beautiful.

Let alone a king.

“Yuuri,” Victor asked softly, squeezing his hand. “Have I said something that upset you?” 

Upon hearing the genuine concern in the king’s voice, Yuuri looked up again. Oh, what did it matter what a teacher thought in the eyes of the Divine?

“I am flattered, but surely in no way as you see me, your majesty,” Yuuri replied quietly. 

Victor blinked in surprise, as he had apparently not expected such an answer at all. 

The dance ended and the people around them applauded excitedly at what had been an absolutely flawless performance, but Victor did not let go of Yuuri just yet. He kept him close, firmly holding his hand. 

“I would never lie to you about anything, Yuuri,” he said quietly, barely loud enough for Yuuri to hear before he finally let him go. Together, they turned to face the crowds, and Yuuri bowed automatically whilst his heart was beating rapidly in his chest and his mind couldn’t seem to stop spinning. 

The second it was appropriate to do so, he fled from the dance floor.

He needed fresh air.

* * *

 

Phichit found him in the gardens enclosed, helping his friend to a large glass of wine to soothe his nerves. And indeed, it did help Yuuri to calm down, albeit he found himself unable to tell Phichit what the king had said to him - for he could barely believe it himself. 

He was no such thing as a beauty. 

Perhaps, in the right light, and with some luck, one could regard him as nice-looking, but nothing more. 

All too soon, they had to go back to the banquet. Yuuri danced once more, this time with Minako, who congratulated him to his new position and his newly found dancing skills. Yuuri was glad to be around her, for her presence was comforting, a reminder of the home that was so far away. The rest of the evening he spent talking to members of the Japanese delegation, many of them colleagues and acquaintances of his father. None of them mentioned anything about his father being ill or that they were concerned, only ever praising him. 

Sometimes, Yuuri believed that someone was watching him, but each time he would turn his head, he would find himself to be mistaken. 

With the early morning hours, the guests began to retreat to their quarters, all of them congratulating the king to such a magnificent evening. Yuuri was the second person they thanked, making it almost impossible for him to leave together with them.

He should have expected it.

The servants had already arrived to begin with the cleaning up process as Yuuri finally was able to leave. His head hurt from the noise and from talking, the wine’s effect having worn off some time ago. He rubbed his neck, making his way across the balcony to the other side from where it would be only a short way to his apartment, and to his bed.

Turning around the corner, he stopped in his tracks. There, sitting almost casually on the balustrades, was the king, looking thoughtfully out into the night. At the sound of Yuuri’s footsteps, Victor looked up. 

A small smile appeared on his tired face. 

“Do you also find it terribly difficult to find rest after an exciting evening?” He asked him. “I believe that if I went to bed right now, I would toss and turn until sunrise.”

Yuuri knew the feeling only to well. In fact, it was the effect of such an evening that he feared the most. He would be unable to sleep, and therefore unable to function, making a fool of himself for an entire day and perhaps even more. 

“My mother always advised to take a walk or some light exercise for such occasions,” he answered, fidgeting with the sleeve of his kimono. 

“Is that why are you taking the long way to your quarters?” Victor asked. 

“Huh?” Yuuri looked around. Indeed, he had walked into the wrong direction. “Oh, I… I must have taken a wrong turn…”

“Not to worry,” Victor said, slipping from the balustrades to stand. “I was hoping to speak to you again before departing for the night, for I have the feeling that I must have greatly upset you.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “Oh, n-no, you really have not-”

“And yet,” Victor said softly, closing the distance between them with every step that he took, “your eyes were red when you returned from the garden. It would break my heart if I had been the one to make you cry, Yuuri.”

Yuuri shook his head several times. “I did not cry, Mylord,” he assured him, and it was the truth. “But I am Japanese. The alcohol… it does not do me well.”

Victor stopped in his tracks, looking at Yuuri in utter surprise. “The… the alcohol?”

“The wine,” Yuuri said, slightly embarrassed. “Whenever I drink wine my eyes and my entire face go red and…”

“Oh my!” Victor laughed and shook his head. “The wine! Oh, I am most glad. I have been worrying all night that I might have made you cry. But still…” He sighed, reaching out to touch Yuuri’s arm. “I did not say anything that upset you, no? I could not live with myself if that were the case.”

Yuuri shook his head. “No, you… you didn’t say anything like that, your majesty.”

Relief spread over Victor’s face. “I am glad. What a terrible end for such a wonderful night this would have been.”

Yuuri did not know what to say to that, all too focused on the hand that was still resting on his arm. 

“Shall we dance?” Victor asked suddenly. “Just once more, to end this night on the right note.”

Yuuri blinked. “But there is no music.”

“Then we shall create it,” Victor said and took Yuuri’s hand once more, pulling him closer. “With our bodies.”

Yuuri had no time to resist. The moment the king pulled him against him, placing his hand on his waist, he knew that he was lost. The moment he looked up into the deep blue eyes of the man that they called the Divine, he knew that he never wanted this moment to end. 

“Tell me, Yuuri,” Victor murmured, his voice low and ever so gentle. “Is Phichit Chulanont your lover?”

Yuuri shivered. “No,” he murmured. “He is only my friend.”

“I see,” Victor hummed, his thumb brushing over the back of Yuuri’s hand ever so lightly. “I was confused. For the way he looks at you speaks of something else.”

Yuuri lowered his gaze. “He is only a friend, your majesty. There… there is nothing between us.”

_ At least not anymore, _ he added in his thoughts.

“Hmm.” Victor tilted his head to the side, regarding Yuuri thoughtfully as they danced to the imaginary music. “What about former lovers, then?”

Yuuri blushed harder than ever before, swallowing thickly. “N-no comment.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor sighed, shaking his head a little. “What I would give to see you blush like this every single day. It is beyond compare. But there… there it is again.” Victor frowned a little. “The sadness that I see in your eyes whenever one pays you a compliment to your beauty.”

Yuuri averted his gaze, unable to look the other man in the eye. “I am not the beauty that you see in me.”

Victor then let go of him entirely, abruptly ending their dance. Yuuri was sure that he would be dismissed in an instant, but no such thing happened.

Instead, the gentle, warm hands of the king cupped his cheeks, and their eyes met once more.

“If you only could see your own beauty,” Victor whispered, a sadness in his eyes that broke Yuuri’s heart. “Then I would be the most happy.”

The king’s touch sent the most wonderful shivers down his spine, and Yuuri was certain that he was about to faint any second. The king was close, so very close, their foreheads only centimetres apart. Yuuri could take in his scent, sweet and yet so very masculine, unlike anything he had encountered before. And his lips, his beautiful, kissable lips, so very near to his own. 

Yuuri closed his eyes. 

“Your majesty! Your majesty!”

The spell broke at the terrified voice of the man that burst through the door, forcing them apart, as if nothing had happened at all.

“What is it?” Victor almost snapped at the man as he almost casually shoved Yuuri behind himself. 

The man barely managed to catch his breath. “The… the messenger you sent to the north!” He gasped, clutching his chest. “He…”

“Out with it!” Victor barked. “What about him?”

“He has been sent back in pieces, your majesty.”

A deadly silence fell over them, only interrupted by the terrified gasp of the young teacher that he had not been able to hold back. 

Victor stared at the man before him, his face like stone. 

“Duke Yakov and Prince Georgi are waiting in your study, they-”

“Tell them I will be there in a minute,” Victor interrupted him. The man nodded and rushed out of the room again, leaving them alone once more.

For a terribly long moment, neither of them spoke. Yuuri stood still, frozen on the spot as he watched Victor the Divine run a hand through his hair, his expression unreadable.

“With fire and blood they choose to come,” he said, to no one in particular, as Yuuri watched the man in front of him transform from man to king. “So fire and blood they shall receive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think in the comments, and also check out my other Yuri on Ice fics if you like!


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter just in time for the weekend!
> 
> I found the last part rather difficult to write, but I hope that it turned out well. Thank you for all your comments and kudos!

**Five**

* * *

 

The death of the messenger shook the monarchy to the core. The man, albeit mostly unknown, had been a member of the Plisetsky family and therefore a distant relative of the late queen. Killing him meant an open affront and attack on the king himself - a clear message that the enemy, whoever they were, would not shy away from killing those close to the crown. 

Victor did not need Yakov to come to that realisation.

A deadly silence had fallen over the king’s study that night. The chest containing the messenger had been taken away upon the king’s request, ordering an appropriate funeral for the man and for his name to be written on the Wall of the Righteous in the temple. And yet, it seemed as if the stink of rotten flesh and blood still lingered in the air. 

“The children need more protection, Victor,” Georgi said quietly. “Whoever is behind these attacks would not hesitate attacking those closest to you. They may be safe in the sanctuary for now, but women and children cannot protect themselves.”

“You bring shame over the name of your most honourable mother, Georgi,” Yakov growled, folding his arms. “Women can protect themselves. But children cannot. He is right, Victor. You need guards in the sanctuary. You need to break with tradition for the sake of their safety.”

Victor huffed. “Tradition is the last thing I’m worried about now.” 

And indeed, he could not have cared less. Despite the fact that traditionally, only the king and selected male relatives were allowed to enter the garden of the women, Victor had already been thinking about sending guards to them for protection. After all, he had already broken the protocol by allowing Yuuri to have his classroom in there - a fact that had scandalised the entire court. Fortunately, the prejudices against the young foreigner had slowly disappeared, and the courtiers did no longer regard him as a strange curiosity. 

“I will speak to Lady Mila in the morning,” Victor murmured, rubbing his eyes. “The women shall carry knives from now on. Just in case. But don’t let the children now. I don’t want them to be scared.”

“Understandable,” Yakov muttered. “The teacher should also be informed, I think. About the guards and knives. But not about the entire matter.”

Victor sighed, looking up. “Katsuki-sensei was with me when I was informed about our messenger. He also knows about the attacks.”

“Vitya!” Yakov roared, rising from his seat. “You cannot throw around information like that to a foreigner!”

“I am not throwing around information, uncle!” Victor snapped and slammed his fist onto the desk. “It was a coincidence! And besides, it is still  _ I _ who decides whom I trust! You should be grateful for his presence, for he has arranged this incredibly successful evening and has assured us the friendship of the Japanese Emperor! He has done more for Russia than you in the last few months, I dare to say! I will no longer tolerate any criticism of his person!”

Georgi’s eyes widened as he watched his father glare at the king, and Victor glare back in return. It was not unusual for Victor and his uncle to clash in their opinions, but usually, Yakov knew better than to lecture his sovereign, and Victor did not reprimand the older man in return. But it seemed that the tables had turned. 

Victor rose from his desk and walked away. “I will go to bed now. We shall speak of this with the rest of the council in the morning. Good night.”

Without waiting for a reply he walked out of the room and shut the doors behind himself forcefully. The last thing he needed right now was his uncle lecturing him about the duties of a king, and what he should be mindful of. No, Yakov was not the one carrying the burden of the crown. Yakov did not know that many things were easier said and done. Yakov was not the one who was under constant supervision, who could never be himself, who always had to be a certain someone. 

His private chambers were the only place of refuge he could go to that night. It was quiet as he closed the doors behind him, sending his poor valet away that had been waiting for him in a corner to help him get ready for the night.

As if he could not do a task like that by himself.

The moment Victor was alone, he buried his face in his hands and took several deep breaths. And then, almost automatically, his feet took him to the other side of his chamber, and to the small altar under the window. 

The polished figurine of the Holy Mother stood in its centre, an arrangement of flowers surrounding it. Victor knelt down and bowed his head before reaching aside to take a new incense stick. Carefully, he lit the stick and placed it in its holder before putting his hands together in prayer, allowing the sweet, heavy scent to enchant his senses. It was a floral one, made of the dried blossoms that had been the core ingredient of the queen’s perfume.

A gift of the monks inhabiting the monastery that had taken him in in the midst of his despair. 

It could remind him of the woman he had loved the most, but nothing more. The dead were gone, had left the sphere of the living and resided in their own realm. Their worlds were so close together and yet so far apart, unreachable, separating them until it was time to move on to the next life. 

“My love,” Victor whispered, opening his eyes and looking up at the small painting that he kept on the altar. “You would know what to do in such a situation, would you not?”

Losing her had been the worst thing to ever happen to Victor in his relatively short life. The moment she had left this world, it had felt as if someone had ripped out a piece of his heart, the half of his soul, and taken it away for good, to never return. He missed her terribly, every day and every night. At times, even looking at his son was painful, for he looked so much like her. He would never forget how she had held him in her arms as a baby, cooing and cuddling him, refusing to let anyone come near them.

And yet, despite his grief, his heart had begun to stir once more. It pained the king, not sure where to turn, if it was right of him to give in to what he felt, fearing that by doing so he would betray the one he had always loved the most. Oh, if she only were there to answer!

But, as always, the queen remained silent.

* * *

 

Yuuri had not been able to sleep the night following the banquet, nor the night after. Too much had been going through his head, from the dance with the king to their lips almost touching to the news that the messenger was dead. Terrible things were happening, threatening what he had come to love, and there was nothing he could do.

The day following the banquet had been declared a free one for the children, and Yuuri did not have to teach. He spent the day in the apartment, burying himself under blankets with a book, trying to come to terms with what had happened.

He had lost his heart to a king. A king that had several wives, and lots of children on top of that.

It was the most foolish thing he had ever done. And yet, there was nothing he could do about it.

Phichit did not disturb him, and neither did Otabek. They seemed to know that Yuuri was not in the mood to talk, and left him mostly in peace, only calling for him during mealtimes. 

Sadly, there was no way that Yuuri could hide from the world forever. He had to do what he had been called to Russia for, and so, he pulled himself out of bed several hours later, put on his robes and gathered his books with a heavy heart. Hiding himself in his rooms would do him no good. 

It was for the best if he kept living the way he had used to, if he pretended that the night of the banquet had never taken place the way he remembered it. Perhaps then, Yuuri thought as he made his way to his classroom, he could save at least some of his sanity.

Upon reaching the pavilion where the children already sat, Yuuri saw that they had a guest among them. Lord Giacometti stood in the middle of the room, laughing at the antics of the boys and girls that tried to pester him with their questions whilst their mothers watched helplessly but with amused smiles on their faces. Spotting Yuuri, Lord Giacometti raised his hand in greeting, and the children moved out of his way. 

“Good morning,  _ sensei _ ,” Lord Giacometti said and bowed his head in greeting. 

“Good morning, Mylord,” Yuuri said softly, clutching his books tighter. “Is everything alright?”

“One could say so, yes,” the other man said. “Do you have a minute or two to spare?”

“Of course,” Yuuri nodded and gave Otabek the books to take them away before following the king’s advisor out of the classroom and into the garden again where they would have some more privacy. 

Lord Giacometti seemed tired these days, but Yuuri couldn’t really blame him for it. The news of the messenger’s death had spread through the entire palace like wildfire, and he was sure that Lord Giacometti knew even more than most people did. For he was, as he knew, not only Victor’s advisor, but also his closest friend. 

“The king has ordered guards to be in the sanctuary at all times,” Lord Giacometti explained, gesturing at the men in the distance that Yuuri only then spotted. “And for the women to carry knives on them. There is probably no actual threat to the king’s family, but it makes him sleep better, you see. He asked me to tell you this so you would not be surprised.”

“Of course,” Yuuri murmured, running a hand through his hair. “After… after this terrible incident, it is only understandable.”

Lord Giacometti hummed in agreement. “I don’t know if you are aware of this, but the messenger was a distant relative of the late queen. A man called Ivan Plisetsky.”

“Whoever is behind all this does not shy away from attacking those close to the king, then,” Yuuri concluded. 

“Precisely,” Giacometti sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. “All of this comes in a rather inconvenient moment, since the delegation of Japan is here. The king is not sure how they would react if they knew of the extent of these cruelties.”

“My people do not condone violence in such a way,” Yuuri assured him. “I am sure that none of this has to do with them. They are most grateful for the connections to Russia.”

Lord Giacometti raised his hands in defense. “Oh, I did not mean to imply such a thing, sensei, I really did not,” he assured him. “But his majesty is not sure how to approach them regarding this matter. He would like to know if the Japanese know of… any rumours or something of that sort that could explain this series of attacks.”

Yuuri fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve. “I… I could ask them, if that helped his majesty,” he said. “I know the Lady Minako and the others fairly well. I’m sure they would answer to me.”

Giacometti frowned a little. “You would help us?”

“Of course I would,” Yuuri replied, equally confused. “How could I not? Japan and Russia are friends. And I… I cannot just stand and watch how these children are threatened.” He looked over his shoulder towards the classroom where the boys and girls were now sitting around Otabek’s desk, watching him draw. 

“You have a kind heart,  _ sensei _ ,” Giacometti said and reached into his breast pocket. “Also, this is for you.”

A small letter was placed in his palm. It bore Victor’s elegant handwriting. 

Yuuri quickly opened the letter and scanned its content. Victor’s Japanese was flawless in writing, it always was, although he often substituted kanji for hiragana when he couldn’t remember how to write a certain word. 

“His majesty is incredibly busy at the moment,” Lord Giacometti said as Yuuri read the letter. “But he would be delighted to have dinner with you in a few. Maybe you can speak to the delegation until then.”

Yuuri nodded, putting the letter away. It had not said more than that, really, just an invitation for dinner. 

“I will see what I can do,” he said. “But… wait here for a moment, yes?”

Giacometti nodded and Yuuri turned around, walking back to the classroom and to the stack where he collected the drawings of the children. He took the one on top and rolled it together as he walked back to Giacometti. 

“Maybe this will cheer the king up a little,” Yuuri said and gave him the drawing. “The Princess Rozalina drew this.”

Giacometti looked down at the rolled up piece of paper for a long moment, as if he were personally moved by the gesture. 

“Is everything alright?” Yuuri asked softly, lowering his voice. “If this is not an appropriate time then-”

“In two days, it will be the anniversary of our queen’s death,” Lord Giacometti explained calmly. Yuuri closed his mouth immediately. 

That he had not known.

“His majesty spends the days around this anniversary in solitude, and in prayer,” the advisor explained. “The women and children know that, and won’t bother him. And neither do we.”

A cold shiver ran down Yuuri’s spine. Of course this day would sooner or later come while he was here, he thought. It was well known how much the king had loved his principal wife, and yet, people rarely spoke in great detail about her. 

“This must be a very difficult time for him,” Yuuri said quietly, clasping his hands demurely. “To mourn in peace whilst these terrible things are happening.”

“Indeed,” Giacometti agreed. “But the king is a very devout person. Spending time in the temple and in prayer will help him. It always does.” The advisor gently patted the scroll in his hands and sighed heavily. “But he will be very happy about this drawing. I will make sure that he finds it in his private bedchamber.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, rubbing his neck. “And… if there is anything else that I can do, please let me know.”

“I will,” Giacometti said and bowed to him once more before walking away, and Yuuri felt the weight of the letter in his pocket more than before. 

“Oh, and  _ sensei _ ?” 

Yuuri turned around once more, looking at the king’s advisor.

“You are doing Russia a great favour in everything you do,” Lord Giacometti said. “Never forget your value.”

* * *

 

One had to keep both eyes and ears open in order to find the very few things in the sanctuary that still reminded of the late queen. For Yuuri, it came as a surprise to hear that the impressive tree with the red leaves in the sanctuary had been planet by Victor’s late wife. Or that the flower arrangements surrounding his classroom had been her doing as well. In fact, as Lady Mila told him, the late queen had been very fond of this garden, and had turned it into a place of refuge for both herself and her husband. Before their marriage, the garden had not even had a name. Only thanks to her it had been named the Sanctuary, and it truly was one. 

Yuuri wondered if it pained Victor to see the work of her life wherever he went, whenever he visited his children. Even if it did, the king never let show, and Yuuri knew better to ever ask. 

It was not his place to ask Victor about his past. 

Or about anything at all.

Yuuri noticed that the children seemed more quiet than usual these days, and so were the women. Thanks to Lord Giacometti, he was sure that they were trying to honour the anniversary of the queen’s death, and he couldn’t help but admire the boys and girls for it. Yuuri tried to keep an eye on the crown prince as well, wondering if the boy was suffering just like his father. After all, the queen had been his mother. But the prince was merely quiet, like the rest of the children, and Yuuri decided not to speak to him about it unless the boy approached him first.

And indeed, the boy did approach him only two days later after their lesson, just as Yuuri was collecting the homework of the children and putting it into a briefcase to look through them later. 

“ _ Sensei _ ?” Yuri clasped his hands behind his back, very much like his father did many times. “I have a question.”

“Oh?” Yuuri put the briefcase aside and looked at the boy expectantly. “I hope that I can help.”

It was not often that Yuri approached him after a lesson, and each time he did, it was mostly about the subjects they had discussed during their class. Then, he would come to his teacher’s desk with his arm full of notes, loudly demanding an explanation. But this time, he held nothing in his hands. 

“I have been thinking recently,  _ sensei _ ,” the boy said, looking down at his feet for a moment. “About the state of things.”

“I see,” Yuuri said with an encouraging nod. “Critical thinking about what is.”

“Yes,” Yuri murmured and scratched the back of his head. “I have been wondering why some people are born noble, like my father and I. And why some people are not. Like Otabek. Why some people are masters and others are slaves.”

Yuuri held his breath. “I… I’m glad that you are thinking about these things, your highness. But I think you should discuss this with your father when-”

“My father is not seeing anyone at the moment, and you are a teacher,  _ sensei _ ,” Yuri replied firmly, frowning in displeasure. “So  _ teach _ .”

Yuuri bit his lip, rubbing his hands together nervously as he looked around in his classroom. “You are not the first person to ask this question, your highness,” he said as he went to the large bookshelf on the other side of the room. “Many men and women from all over the world have been asking themselves why the world is the way it is.” He pulled a few books from the shelf, checking if they were the ones he was looking for. Once he had selected a few, he returned to Yuri. “I suggest that you read these. They contain essays, written by men and women who were searching for answers, just like you. When you’ve read them, we can discuss your personal findings.”

Yuri took the books from him, weighing them in his small hands. “Written by men and women, you say?” He asked cautiously. “I didn’t know that women wrote things like that.”

“Women write all sorts of things,” Yuuri said. “Most of the time, they do it even better than men, I dare to say.”

The prince raised an eyebrow at that, but nodded once. “I will read them and come to you once I’ve finished them,  _ sensei _ .”

“Good,” Yuuri said with a small smile. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Yuri hesitated, as if he were not sure how to begin. “Lady Anastasia is having a baby soon,” he said. “Otabek and I were wondering how it got into her belly.”

Yuuri chuckled nervously. “Now that is something that I must not teach you, your highness. That is something that your father will tell you when the time is right, believe me.”

Yuri frowned even more, but seemed to sense that he would not get an answer out of his teacher regarding that matter. He bowed his head once and walked away with the books in his arms, joining Otabek under the tree. The other boy looked up when the prince joined him, moving to the side so that he could sit beside him. It was incredible, Yuuri thought, how much this very unique friendship seemed to have helped both boys. Although Otabek still did not speak, the orphan had blossomed in the company of the princes and princesses, making progress in his lessons and seemed happy in general. His cheeks had a healthy colour and his eyes were shining each time he got to spend time with his new best friend. Their friendship seemed to benefit the crown prince greatly in return, and Yuuri hoped that in this difficult time, the prince would find comfort in Otabek’s silent company. 

Perhaps, Yuuri thought as he took his briefcase and left the classroom, finding Otabek had been fate.

* * *

 

The Japanese delegation had their quarters in an impressive building on the other side of the city centre, surrounded by a large park and with direct access to the main streets. For Yuuri, finding his way through the maze of the Capital’s streets would have been an almost impossible task if he had not had access to a carriage and a personal driver. The man had merely nodded at Yuuri as he had climbed into the vehicle before driving off, taking him out of the palace. It was the first time that Yuuri had left the palace complex since his arrival, for he had simply never really found the time for a leisure stroll through the streets. And for doing so on his own he had been too afraid. Sitting in the open carriage and being in the safe hands of a driver helped to ease Yuuri’s anxiety a bit, and he allowed himself to let his gaze wander during the drive, taking in as much of his surroundings as possible. Perhaps, he thought, he could even walk some of the way back on his own.

A very excited young man was waiting for Yuuri as he arrived at the mansion, rushing to help him out of the carriage. “Katsuki-sama, welcome!” He exclaimed and bowed several times. “I’m Minami Kenjirou! Lord Giacometti said you would come and I’m here to take you to the Lady Minako!”

Yuuri was slightly overwhelmed by the boy’s excitement, but tried not to let it show. “Thank you, Minami-san,” he said politely. “You have not been to the banquet, right?”

Minami sighed and shook his head. “No,” he said sadly as they walked into the mansion’s courtyard. “Minako-sensei said that I’m too young and yes, maybe she’s right, but I would have loved to go! From what I’ve heard it was an amazing evening with all the music and dance and entertainment and- oh!” He quickly covered his mouth with his hands, his eyes wide. “I did not mean to complain!”

Yuuri chuckled. “You have every right to dream of such things, Minami-san,” he said. “How old are you? Eighteen, yes? I shall ask Lady Minako to bring you along next time.”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Minami exclaimed happily as they entered the mansion, arriving at what seemed to be an entrance hall. Minami did not stop there, but immediately took Yuuri down a long, sumptuous hallway ornamented in gold and silver and through a salon to what seemed to be a patio. Lady Minako and her husband sat there on a bench, drinking tea, whilst a few other members of the delegation discussed something in the shadow of a tree nearby.

“Yuuri-kun!” Minako exclaimed and rose, causing the others to turn around. “What a lovely surprise.”

Yuuri bowed politely as she approached him and pulled him into a hug, most unusual for a woman of her standing, but those who knew her would never be surprised at such behaviour. She was a rather unusual woman that never backed down. No, Minako always said what she thought, and she had shaped her life on her own, choosing to marry the man that she loved, not caring that he was not Japanese, and that many people would resent her for it.

“Minako-sensei,” Yuuri smiled and also bowed to her husband. “And everyone else. Thank you for receiving me.”

“Always, my dear, always,” Minako said. “Lord Giacometti said that you would come.”

“At least I’m not coming unexpectedly,” Yuuri said and rubbed his neck. “I’ve… I’ve promised Lord Giacometti to help the king in a rather upsetting matter.”

“We heard about the attacks,” Minako’s husband said in heavily accented Japanese, shaking his head. “Terrible. Who does something like this?”

“If we only knew, darling,” Minako murmured, moving to pour Yuuri a cup of tea. 

“The messenger was a distant relative of the late queen,” Yuuri explained and accepted the tea. “In that light the whole affair seems even more upsetting.”

“Right,” Minako nodded thoughtfully. “The city is in mourning for her this week. Apparently it is forbidden to play music until the mourning period is over. And there are also no theatre performances. Too bad, as I had planned to see a Russian play. But it is understandable. The late queen is worshipped almost like a goddess by the people here, it seems.”

That was something Yuuri had not noticed yet. In fact, he knew almost nothing about the king’s late wife. Not even her name. 

“Katsuki-san.” An elderly gentleman had joined them on the patio, impeccably dressed in formal courtly clothing, the emblem of the emperor visible on his chest as he looked the teacher up and down. Yuuri knew who he was. Kawabe Ienao was one of the emperor’s most trusted advisors, responsible for foreign affairs and known for defending Japan and its reputation with an iron fist. Yuuri was surprised to see him there, for Kawabe was even older than his own father and not in the best physical condition to travel. And Kawabe was not exactly known for taking a liking to the Russian court.

“Kawabe-sama,” Yuuri said and bowed deeply to the older man. “Thank you for receiving me here.”

“I was informed that you would come, but not of the reason why,” Kawabe said, raising an eyebrow. “If you have come to ask me to take you back to Japan, then I must inform you that this is not up to you, but to his Majesty, the emperor.”

Yuuri shook his head quickly. “No, that is not why I’ve come,” he assured the man. 

“I see.” Kawabe studied him intently. “I’ve heard that you have… adapted well to the Russian court. That you seem to enjoy it here very much.”

Yuuri did not like the tone in the voice of the other man, but he decided to ignore it - no matter what Kawabe seemed to imply. 

“I have come to ask you about the attacks that have been taking place in Russia’s northern provinces,” Yuuri explained. “As you probably know, a distant relative of the late queen has been sent there as a messenger to investigate, but was sent back cut into pieces by an enemy that his majesty the king does not yet know. Lord Giacometti asked me if-”

Kawabe had raised his hand dismissively. “I understand very well what Giacometti has asked of you, Katsuki-san,” he said. “And no. The Japanese do not know who or what is behind the attacks.”

It was the answer that Yuuri had expected, and was secretly relieved about. The last thing he wanted was a dispute between Russia and Japan concerning information that one side might withhold. “Of course,” Yuuri said and bowed his head. “I expected as much. I only came because I had promised Lord Giacometti to help in any-”

“You should remember where you stand, Katsuki-san,” Kawabe interrupted him curtly and regarded Yuuri with a look that could have frozen a waterfall within the blink of an eye. “Keep yourself out of politics. You are only a teacher of Russian children.”

The shift in atmosphere could be felt by everyone.

Yuuri stared at Kawabe with wide eyes. 

“I- I only meant to-”

“None of this is your concern,” Kawabe said firmly, regarding Yuuri with a look that one could only define as pejorative. “You are a scholar of low rank, nothing more. Remember that the next time you dance arm in arm with the king.”

And with that, Kawabe walked away, leaving a speechless Yuuri and an indignant Minako behind on the patio. 

“How dare he!” Minako huffed. “I’ve never liked the man. A living mummy, that is what he is!”

But Yuuri was not listening to her. Kawabe’s words were ringing in his head, leading to a conclusion that Yuuri had already feared deep down. 

Was he so easy to read that his feelings for Victor had become obvious to everyone but to himself?

Yuuri did not stay much longer at the mansion, saying goodbye as soon as it was appropriate to do so. After the dressing-down by Kawabe, he felt even more like a foolish boy than he usually did, more like a child that was lost in a world that was far too big, far too obscure. He barely noticed Minami who bid him farewell by the door, burying his hands in the fabric of his robe as the carriage took him through the streets of the capital. Only as they were far away enough from the mansion, Yuuri felt able to breathe again, and he realised that if he had stayed much longer, he would have spiralled into a full-blown anxiety attack. His entire body hurt from the tension in his muscles, and yet, he felt restless at the same time.

“Excuse me,” he called to the driver. “Please drop me off by the main market. I will walk the rest of the way from there.”

The driver nodded and did as he was asked to, stopping at the edge of the large market square in a less crowded alley. Yuuri got off and thanked the man briefly before making his way towards the square, hoping that walking would help him to calm down.

But that was easier said than done. 

It was not even Kawabe’s interpretation of the dance that upset him, Yuuri realised as he walked, neither truly looking here nor there on his way. It was the fact that Kawabe had been right with everything else. Who was he, if not only a teacher of children? A scholar, yes, but nothing more. He had no higher rank, nor a special title. He was nothing special. Nothing about him was, and would ever be. 

He was no one, a face amongst many. 

A face that would never truly matter. Let alone to a king.

“‘Scuse me, Sir?” Someone tugged on his sleeve, trying to get his attention. Yuuri lifted his head, finding a young boy standing at his side, dressed in shabby clothing. In his hand, he held a scroll. “You be the Japanese teacher, right?”

Yuuri nodded, too confused to say anything. 

“For ye!” The boy shoved the scroll into Yuuri’s arms and then ran off, disappearing in the crowd.

Yuuri frowned and looked down at the scroll in his hands, turning it slowly. It was cheap parchment, the sort one could buy for a few coins in countless shops nearby. A thin thread kept it together, covering a little of the clumsy, Chinese handwriting on the edge.

季光虹

_ Ji Guang Hong. _

Yuuri tucked the scroll away safely in his robe, and continued on his way back to the palace.

* * *

 

The boy sat in the reading room of the sanctuary, avoiding the clouds and the rain that had come over Russia that day. Yuuri made his presence known by briefly knocking on the doorframe before approaching him. Guang Hong seemed surprised to see him there, for Yuuri rarely came to the private reading room, preferring his own chambers for his studies.

“I have something for you,” Yuuri said and retrieved the scroll from his robe, placing it in Guang Hong’s pale hands.

The boy’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of the letters, and he covered his mouth with his hand to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape. 

“H-how?” He breathed, clutching the scroll tightly to his chest. “How did you get this,  _ sensei _ ?”

“I honestly don’t really know, a boy in the streets gave it to me,” Yuuri said and squeezed Guang Hong’s shoulder. “Enjoy every word of it.”

With that, he left the reading room again, not wanting to disturb Guang Hong any longer. He did not see that Guang Hong was watching him until he was out of side, nor did he witness the moment the boy ripped the scroll open and took in its contents. He did not see the tears that streamed down Guang Hong’s fae, nor did he hear his quiet sobs. For then he would have seen true heartbreak, and his own misery would have appeared so very insignificant in the face of true pain and despair.

But Yuuri’s heart was in turmoil with itself, and distorted his focus.

* * *

 

The time of the seven rains hit Russia with full force, as if summer had never existed. The temperature dropped considerably over the course of only two days, causing the entire court to shiver in their beds and seek the warmth of the fireplaces like moths desired the light. The bedding in Yuuri’s and Phichit’s apartment was exchanged for thicker ones, and the windows were lined with furs to keep the cold out. The classroom windows were shut as well, creating a room that Phichit described as a “cosy burrow” upon seeing it. But Yuuri liked it nonetheless, and so did the children.

It was a few days later that Yuuri received a letter from Victor himself, asking him to join him for dinner on the very same evening. Yuuri sent back a short reply, accepting the invitation with a heavy heart. 

It did not matter what he felt, or why, or how much he wanted it to stop. It was best if they continued as if nothing had happened, and if the king did not address it, neither would he.

A servant greeted Yuuri by the door as he arrived that evening, explaining to him that the king would join him shortly as he took him into the private dining room. Yuuri had been there before, for his very first dinner with the king. It was a similar atmosphere like the first time, Yuuri found as the doors were closed behind him and he was left alone. But in between this meeting and the last, the feelings of the young teacher towards the king had shifted. For the first time in his life, Yuuri Katsuki was at loss for words for himself. He did not know himself like this, did not know the terrible ache in his chest that flared up each time he dared to think of the night of the banquet.

Yuuri let his eyes wander, trying to distract himself until the arrival of the king. The dining room was a small, yet spacious place, big enough to entertain a handful of people but of a size that did not seem or feel too extravagant. Unlike the public parts of the palace, the dining room was not as richly ornamented, but still very beautiful. Just like in his own rooms, the windows had also been lined with furs to keep the cold out, and a fire had been made in the fireplace on the other side for warmth and extra cosiness. 

And there, on the mantelpiece, stood a small painting that Yuuri had not seen before. But before he could get closer to it to take a look, footsteps coming from the hallway announced the king’s arrival, and Yuuri quickly turned around to face the man as the doors swung open.

Victor looked pale, tired and worn-out, with shadows under his eyes as if he had not been able to sleep properly for days. He wore a surprisingly simple, dark robe made of thicker material than the ones he usually wore, and his hair seemed a little messy, as if he’d been out in the rain for a bit. 

“Good evening, Yuuri,” he said and closed the door himself. “Forgive me for being late. My advisor wished to speak to me just a moment ago, and it was indeed an urgent matter. Have you been standing all this time whilst waiting? Please, do take a seat.”

Yuuri had no choice but to do as he was told, for Victor was already taking him to the table, where servants had just served dinner: heavy stews, bread, steamed vegetables. 

It seemed that with the change of seasons, the overall diet of the palace changed as well.

“I hope that my invitation did not come as a surprise,” Victor said as he took a seat on the other side of the table and dismissed the servants with a wave of his hand. 

Yuuri shook his head. “N-no, of course not, your majesty. I- I mean-”

Victor leant back, studying Yuuri with a strangely sad expression. “Take a few deep breaths,” he advised him softly. “You have nothing to fear from me here. Or did I give you any reason to worry about this meeting?”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, keeping his gaze lowered. “I was merely… a little surprised that you wished to see me during… during this time of the year.” Yuuri did not find the strength to tell Victor the truth, that his heart was in turmoil because of the night of the banquet. And yet, it was true that an invitation by Victor at this time had come as a surprise.

Victor said nothing to that for a long moment, and Yuuri was sure to have upset him.

“You’re not the first one to say so,” he said, much to Yuuri’s surprise. “My uncle said something similar yesterday, when I mentioned that I would meet with you for dinner. He asked me if this was appropriate since it is the time of mourning for me. I assume that you have been informed about this.”

Yuuri nodded, lifting his gaze again. Victor did not seem upset. If anything, he appeared thoughtful. The young king sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than it already was. 

“But it is none of my uncle’s business how I mourn,” Victor continued. “And since I believe that my wife would have liked you very much, I am sure that she would not mind.”

He took the wine carafe and filled Yuuri’s glass, leaving the teacher no choice but to merely watch. It was clear that Victor was still not fully himself again, and he truly could not blame him. After all, he was in mourning, and it was well-known how much the death of the queen had affected him. Being allowed to see him during such a difficult time, being asked to even spend an evening with him, was such a great honour that Yuuri could not help but lower his head in awe for the man in front of him.

How was he worthy of such an honour?

“Yuuri?” Victor asked softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

Yuuri nodded quickly. “Y-yes, of course,” he assured him and sat up straight. “I was only thinking of the last few days and… I just wanted to ask how you’ve been feeling these days, but I honestly don’t know how to phrase it without appearing rude or intrusive.”

For a moment, Victor stared at Yuuri with an expression that the teacher had never seen on the other man - something he could not quite define, as if the masquerade that the king tried to uphold most of the time had slipped out of position, revealing the man behind it. 

Victor lowered his head, looking down at the glass of wine in his hand. “I’m not feeling very well, to be honest,” he said quietly. “Every year I think that I’m prepared for this, but my emotions prove me otherwise. I can barely look my son in the eye when it happens, for I see his mother in him. And that pains me very much. I hide in the temple and in my chambers, trying to… to…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Forgive me. I should not put this burden on you. One should think that after all these years I’m capable of mourning like any other man without having thousands of mental breakdowns per day.”

Hearing about Victor’s grief for his wife had been one thing, but witnessing the effects of it firsthand was something entirely different, Yuuri found. The mask had fallen, showing the man that Victor truly was - a man like any other, who had loved his wife so deeply that he could hardly cope with her loss. A man that was heartbroken still, and who had not been asked the simple question of how he felt  for a very long time.

“Is there anything I can do?” Yuuri asked hesitantly. 

Victor did the last thing that Yuuri expected him to do as a response.

He smiled. 

“You’ve been there for my children when I could not,” he said. “That is more than enough for me.”

Yuuri felt himself turn red at the gentle praise. “I’m doing my best,” he murmured. “I know I’m nothing special and to be allowed to be here to dine with you during such a difficult time…”

“Ah, ah,” Victor interrupted him, shaking his head. “Nothing special, you say, but that is far from the truth. An ordinary man would not have dared to inquire amongst his own countrymen for the sake of another nation. Yes, I’ve heard about your trip to the mansion. Christophe told me about it,” he added as Yuuri’s eyes widened in surprise. “And I wanted to thank you. Not many would have done this. Let alone foreigners like yourself.”

“I just…wanted to help,” Yuuri murmured, looking down at his food. “The thought of someone planning to… to harm the children…”

“It is an unbearable thought indeed,” Victor agreed solemnly. “That is why I am so glad to have you here, Yuuri.” He reached across the table and touched Yuuri’s arm. “You love them just like I do. That puts my mind at rest. Knowing that there is someone who truly cares for them, not because he has to but because he wants to. You are an extraordinary man, Yuuri. My children love you dearly. And who am I to doubt them?”

Yuuri felt his eyes become wet at the king’s words, and he thought of the little boys and girls with an aching heart. It was true, he had begun to love all of them, as if they were his own.

“Who could not love them, your majesty?” Yuuri asked in return. “They are kind and intelligent, with big hearts that know nothing of the cruelties of our world. They… they still have the hunger we all had at some point. A hunger to understand life, and the wish to know everything.” He smiled a little, remembering how they often gathered around him eagerly with their questions. “I love them dearly. I am not ashamed to admit that.”

Victor smiled knowingly. “Even Yuri loves you,” he said and let go of Yuuri’s arm once more. “He has changed, thanks to you.”

“Not for the worse, I hope.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Victor assured him with a chuckle, and the tension that had been between them disappeared at once. “Yuri is asking many questions these days, you know,” he said as he began to break bread into smaller pieces and tossed it into the stew. “Questions that I sometimes have no answer to. Incredibly specific questions about the state of our kingdom, even. Why there are masters and slaves. Why some people are born noble whilst others are not. Such things. And then I found out where he got these ideas from.” He rose from the table and went to the other side of the room before returning with two books in his hand. Only as Victor put them down on the table, Yuuri recognised what they were.

“You gave him the books, he said,” Victor said. “Is that correct?”

Yuuri cleared his throat. “Y-your majesty, I only-”

“I just want to know if Yuri actually got them from you, and not from someone else,” Victor interrupted him calmly.

Yuuri took a deep breath. “Yes. He got them from me,” he confirmed. “But he did not get the ideas from me. He approached me, asking me about the ethics of slavery and such. I said that it would be best if he spoke to you about it but he insisted that I-”

Victor raised his hand. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Yuuri,” he assured him. “You are his teacher, and you only did your job.” He picked up one of the books, thoughtfully flipping through the pages. “When Yuri showed them to me I was surprised that my son would find such a read interesting. So I read them as well, to be prepared for his questions. I didn’t want him to think that his father doesn’t have any answers for him. The views presented in these books are… interesting to me. Not necessarily what I would have taught my son.”

Victor put the book down again and picked up his spoon, stirring his stew with it before starting to eat. Yuuri did the same, carefully tasting the foreign dish. It was surprisingly spicy, almost like the dishes Phichit liked to cook every now and then whenever he missed the cuisine of his home country. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Yuuri,” Victor said after a while. “I understand that you were only trying to provide answers to my son’s questions. But he is becoming older, and he will ask more questions. I appreciate your eagerness to teach Yuri ideas different from our own, but you must keep in mind that he will be king of Russia one day. One day, he will be the one to embody what is right or wrong. His reign will be built on what came before him. I’m sure that he will be a good and just king, and he will certainly be responsible for many changes. But until then, I have to prepare him for the world as it is now, not how it could be.”

“You are trying to protect him,” Yuuri said. “I understand that. But would it be so problematic if he learnt about different ideas, and different perspectives?”

Victor regarded Yuuri with a long, thoughtful look. “Do you know of the nickname that was given to me some time ago?” He asked, smiling a little as realisation came over Yuuri’s face. “So you do. They name me ‘the heartless’ for a reason. I do hope that you have realised by now that I am not heartless in the sense of being a cold-blooded monster. No, the story is a very different one.”

Yuuri had heard the nickname several times, and it had been one of the reasons he had been incredibly anxious about coming to Russia. For months, he had wondered about the origin of this name, for the man he had come to know did not seem to fit the description of a heartless tyrant.

“When I was fifteen, I was stabbed in the chest by an assassin,” Victor explained calmly, as if he were telling an ordinary story. “But the knife missed my heart by merely the width of a finger. They thought to have succeeded, so they left me there to die. But I survived. It was a miracle. Only someone without an actual heart could survive an attack like this, they said. And so the nickname spread throughout the realm. I still bear a rather ugly scar on my chest.”

He took his glass of wine and took a small sip before he continued. “You see that I am not heartless in the sense of the word. I want the best for all of my children, for all of them have a claim to the throne. I need to prepare them for the world that is out there. For the reality in our kingdom. Everything else must come second. Even justified criticism.  _ Especially  _ justified criticism on the way of things.”

Yuuri had feared the day that their views would eventually clash. But now that it had come, Yuuri found that it upset him less than he had thought. It was understandable, was it not? After all, Victor was not an ordinary father, and his children not ordinary boys and girls. They were princes and princesses, whose lives would be very different from the rest of the kingdom. They had to be prepared for a world that could be brutal at times, and they needed to know how to survive in it. 

“What happened to the assassin?” Yuuri asked. “Did they manage to escape?”

Victor chuckled. “I saw him again a few weeks later as he came to me, disguised as a servant. As he tried to kill me a second time, I was faster. Unlike him, my dagger did not miss its target.”

Yuuri stared at him.

“You seem surprised,” Victor said. “Why?”

“You were… so young,” Yuuri breathed. “Only fifteen years old. No boy should have to kill at this age.”

Victor nodded in agreement. “Indeed. But I had no choice.” He picked up his spoon again and continued to eat. “I grew up very fast after that. My father gave me my first three concubines as a present once I had recovered from the attack. One year later I was married.”

Yuuri choked on his stew the moment the moment Victor changed the subject ever so casually. “Oh dear,” the king said with a hint of amusement in his voice as Yuuri coughed. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-Yes,” Yuuri breathed and quickly took a sip from the wine. Victor smiled.

“I didn’t mean to startle you with such scandalous details of my youth,” he said in the teasing tone that Yuuri was become very used to. “At what age do men get married in Japan, usually?”

Yuuri cleared his throat, clasping his hands on his lap before answering. It was probably best if he did not try to eat whilst having a conversation. “It depends,” he said. “Usually in their early twenties. Sometimes later, if they have important careers at court.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully. “What about you, for example? What would be the appropriate age for you to get married?”

Yuuri blushed. “Well…” He thought of the conversations he’d had with his mother, the jokes his father had made, and the teasing questions of the emperor himself who had always wanted to know why ‘our poor scholar Katsuki’ had not settled down with a girl yet. “I’m twenty-three. Almost twenty-four. I suppose that my parents would have found me a girl to marry by now if I had stayed at home.”

“I see.” Victor had stopped eating as well, holding onto his cup of wine instead. “So it would be an arranged marriage? You would have no say in the matter?”

“Not necessarily,” Yuuri answered. “Most parents want a good match for their children, of course. When my sister got engaged, my parents asked her for her opinion. She took one good look at her betrothed and told him that she agreed to it, but that if he treated her badly she would not hesitate to humiliate him and leave him. It is common in Japan for women to leave their husbands and return to their families if they are unhappy. I think that made him respect her.”

Victor laughed, and it was the most beautiful sound that Yuuri had ever heard. “I like your sister!” He declared. “She sounds like a strong woman.”

“She really is,” Yuuri agreed, smiling fondly as he thought of Mari’s challenging personality. “So I think that if my parents found a girl for me, they would make sure that we both agreed to it. My parents’ marriage was an arranged one officially, but in reality, they had been in love with each other since the days of their childhood.”

Victor sighed almost dreamily. “How very romantic,” he said. “And I appreciate your parents’ mindset. A marriage, even if it is an arranged one, should be based on the consent of both parties.”

“Believe me, your majesty, their mindset is a most unusual one in Japan,” Yuuri said and took a sip from his wine. “They could marry me off to anyone if they wished. But they would never do that. And I’m very grateful for that.”

“Hmm.” Victor refilled their cups. “My marriage was arranged when I was seven years old, but I didn’t get to meet Galina until our wedding day. It took place shortly after my seventeenth birthday. I don’t think I had ever been so anxious before. I was barely able to walk in a straight line.”

Galina.

For the first time, Yuuri heard her name, spoken by the man that had loved her the most.

“I was so shy that I was barely able to look at her during the ceremony, and so was she. It was only during the banquet that she spoke to me. Telling me that she liked my hair, and asked if she could touch it.” Victor began to laugh. A sad, wistful laugh that broke Yuuri’s heart. “She was not even allowed to do that, for the protocol states that the groom must address the bride first, but oh, she could not have cared less. I used to dislike the colour of my hair until Galina changed my point of perspective. Something that she did many times. In that respect, you remind me of her.” 

Yuuri swallowed thickly, the words of the king sending warm shivers down his spine. 

“I think that is why my children like you, Yuuri. Why I like you.” 

Before Yuuri knew what was happening, the king’s hand had found his own, covering it entirely. “At first I did not understand why,” Victor murmured. “But… it has been a while since there was someone of genuine kindness among us. Someone with a good and gracious heart and honest joviality. That is… that is why I would like to get to know you better, Yuuri. I would like to know everything about you. Your views, your thoughts, your… everything that there is. Believe me, I hardly understand myself at this point, but I know that not even a king should dare to assume to know the ways of the heart.”

If Yuuri had been braver, prettier, bolder, less shy, then perhaps he would have been prepared for such words, prepared for the ache in his chest that threatened to overpower him, that made it impossible for him to speak - for him to ask Victor to stop, for none of this could ever be. That he was nothing special, not fit to be the desire of a king’s heart. 

But none of this came over Yuuri’s lips.

“Yuuri,” Victor said quietly, intertwining their fingers ever so gently, and Yuuri believed his heart to stop beating at any second. “May I court y-”

But before the king could finish his sentence, the sound of heavy doors falling shut interrupted him, forcing them apart and into high alert. No one was supposed to enter the king’s private rooms at this time of the day, not without an official announcement. 

And after what had happened in the north, and to the messenger, one had to expect the worst.

Victor reached under the table and pulled out a knife, at whose sight Yuuri’s eyes widened in shock. 

At the sudden sound of small feet padding across wooden floors, however, the king and the teacher exchanged a surprised look, only to find the answer to their unspoken question in the form of a tiny voice coming from the door. 

“Daddy?”

Yuuri sighed in relief and sank back into his chair, rubbing his chest to soothe his ever racing heart while Victor quickly hid the knife again and made his way to the door to open. Princess Rozalina stood there in her nightgown, her hair messy from sleep and her eyes red from crying.

“Oh darling,” Victor sighed and knelt down by her side, touching her little hand. “What’s the matter, hm?”

“I h-had a bad d-dream,” Rozalina sniffed and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her little face in her father’s chest. 

“Oh dear.” Victor carefully lifted her into his arms and closed the door, rubbing her back soothingly. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

Rozalina hiccuped. “Y-Yuu-li was gone,” she whispered. “I don’t want Yuu-li to go.”

“Hm? Look, he’s right here,” Victor told her and kissed her cheek as he turned around to show his daughter that they were not alone. Yuuri rose from the chair and made his way over to the pair, touching Rozalina’s back. 

“Are you alright, little princess?” He asked her softly. “Did the dream scare you?”

Rozalina nodded solemnly. “I don’t want you to go, Yuu-li.”

“I’m not going anywhere, princess,” Yuuri promised.

It was strange to say such a thing when everything in him screamed the opposite, when his instincts told him to run, away from Victor and from his feelings. 

“Really?” Rozalina asked, her blue eyes becoming even bigger than they already were. 

“Really,” Yuuri assured her. “I… I will stay here for as long as your father wants to have me.”

Rozalina blinked, turning her head to look at her father questioningly. But Victor was only looking at Yuuri, a gentle blush slowly spreading across his pale face, making him even more beautiful than he already was. 

“And you want Yuu-li to stay for a long time, right, Daddy?” Rozalina asked. 

Victor nodded slowly. “Indeed,” he said quietly. 

Rozalina seemed relieved at that, resting her head on Victor’s shoulder in exhaustion. 

Yuuri stepped back, clasping his hands demurely. “I think you should take her back to bed, your majesty,” he said softly. “We… we can continue on another evening.”

“Yes,” Victor murmured, looking down at the child in his arms. “I… I suppose you are right.”

“I wanna sleep here with you,” Rozalina mumbled sleepily, and one look at Victor’s face told him that the king would never be able to say no to his daughter’s wish.

“Okay, love,” Victor promised and kissed her hair. “We’ll go to bed in a moment.”

He looked at Yuuri, and neither of them truly wanted to leave, to end this evening already, not after what had been said. But there was no other way, not with a little girl that needed her father more than a teacher had the right to claim more of his time.

“I shall take my leave then,” Yuuri said and bowed his head. “Good night, princess. And good night, your majesty,”

“G’night, Yuu-li,” Rozalina yawned and curled up in her father’s arms. Victor could only nod at him.

“Good night, Yuuri,” he said softly. “I shall… see you tomorrow.”

Yuuri nodded in agreement and made his way to the door. He had barely touched the handle as Victor said his name once more.

“Yuuri.” Victor was still standing where he had left him, cradling his daughter. “Please, call me Victor. I’m not your king and never have been.”

Yuuri held his breath, for the king’s voice was full of emotion and longing, full of what Yuuri had begun to feel in his heart each time he looked at him, things that he had not been able to find the right words for. 

Yuuri nodded. “Goodnight, Victor,” he said softly, and a small smile spread over the other man’s face. 

Only as Yuuri lay in his own bed a while later, staring at the ceiling of his chamber with a fluttering heart, he was able to comprehend what had just happened. None of the things he had believed to see and feel in the last few weeks had been an illusion. They were as real as Victor, whose hand he could still feel holding his own, as if he’d never let go. Victor, who was the king of many and refused to view Yuuri as one of them. Victor, whose voice made Yuuri’s heart soar each time he heard it. Victor, who made Yuuri feel as if he were not one of thousands, but someone special.

And all those things, Yuuri realised, burying his face in his hands as his feelings threatened to overwhelm him, could be only called love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think!


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!!  
> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos!  
> I really didn't think that anyone would read this story, but it seems there are many people like me in this fandom :D
> 
> There is a lot happening in this chapter, so read carefully!
> 
> Trigger warnings: mentions of miscarriage, premature birth, etc.

**Six**

* * *

 

The Seven Rains were something Yuuri had only known from his books. They described a time in Russia that was ruled by seven different kinds of rain, from soft to hard, from warm summer rain to icy storms, and so much in between that Yuuri was sure that there were actually more kinds of rain than only seven. But most importantly, they marked the transition from summer to autumn.

For Yuuri, it meant that the palace was often so heavily flooded that it was best for the children to remain indoors, as neither their father nor their mothers wanted to risk them catching a cold in such unstable weather. But Yuuri found it difficult to spend these days confined to their apartment with nothing to do and so, he had made his way through the pouring rain, running from hallway to hallway due to the lack of an umbrella, hoping to find something to distract himself.

For Victor had not called for him yet, and the confession that had almost come over the king’s lips kept Yuuri restless, and his heart overflowing with emotion that he was unable to place. Upon his return from dinner, Phichit had only looked at Yuuri questioningly. The Thai knew Yuuri better than anyone else, and he knew that if Yuuri did not speak about what was bothering him voluntarily, then it was best to leave him alone until he opened up on his own terms. After a night of restless sleep with a fluttering heart, the only thing Yuuri wanted was to find some distraction.

His desk was covered in new drawings as he arrived in the classroom, most of them from Rozalina. Yuuri had received so many of her drawings that he recognised them on the spot. He sat down and picked up the papers, looking through them thoughtfully.

He had grown so attached to these children, and to this place, that leaving one day would break his heart.

That much he knew.

“Of course I would find you here.”

Yuuri almost jumped on the spot at the sound of the king’s voice. He looked up, finding Victor stand in the entrance to the pavillion. In his hand, he held a wooden umbrella, shielding himself from the ever present, ever pouring autumn rain. Yuuri noted that the king was dressed more casually than usual, his robe lacking the golden and silver ornaments that Yuuri had gotten so used to seeing on him. 

“Trying to flee from the rain?” Victor asked as he stepped into the classroom and closed his umbrella. 

“Kind of, yes,” Yuuri admitted. “I don’t like being confined to my rooms due to bad weather. So I thought I could come here and work a little. Only to find my desk covered in drawings.” He chuckled to himself and pulled out one of the latest drawings to show to Victor. 

“Oh?” Victor walked over to the desk and took the drawing from the teacher’s hands, immediately recognising from whom it was as he saw what was on the paper. It was a dancing couple, one of them with silver hair, the other one with black hair, embracing each other tightly with big smiles on their faces. 

“Something tells me that Princess Rozalina did not go to bed at the night of the banquet,” Yuuri said quietly. “I’ve gotten so many drawings like this since that night.”

“Me too,” Victor murmured, unable to take his eyes off the drawing. “The one that you had sent to me last week was just like that. Rozalina… she loves you very much.”

Yuuri took the drawing back from Victor, placing it in the folder that he kept on his desk just for these drawings. “She is very dear to me,” he said, looking down at the collection of drawings that he had gotten from the princess over the course of a few weeks only. “They all are.”

Victor put his umbrella down, leaning it against the wall. “It makes me happy to know that you’ve come to love them as much as I do,” he said, running his hand over the smooth surface of the wooden desk. “They are my hope for Russia. Which… which I hope you have come to love as well. Despite, well…” He chuckled, gesturing at the window. “Despite such weather.”

Yuuri laughed.

“I’m not used to so much rain,” Yuuri explained, clasping his hands demurely out of instinct. “At this time of the year, it’s still very warm in Japan. Autumn is yet to come. And even then, the change of seasons is not as abrupt as it is here.”

Victor nodded emphatically and leant against Yuuri’s desk. “You must miss Japan very much.”

Yuuri blushed. “I sometimes do,” he murmured and looked down at his desk, mindlessly rearranging some of the papers. “But I think that is normal. When Phichit came to Japan to live with us, he missed Thailand very much. It took him some time to adjust to his new life. I’m just going through the same things. Please don’t get me wrong,” he said softly, looking up at Victor who was still watching him thoughtfully and with so much adoration. “I love it here. However, you can take a Japanese person out of Japan, but you cannot take Japan out of a Japanese person.”

For a moment, Victor only looked at him, as if he were not sure what to make of Yuuri’s statement. Yuuri immediately regretted being so bold about his homesickness.

“Come,” Victor said suddenly and held out his arm for Yuuri to take. “I would like to show you something.”

Yuuri hesitated, throwing a glance over his shoulder. What if they were seen together like this, with him holding onto the arm of the king?

“Don’t worry,” Victor said, seeming to read his thoughts. “No one will see us. And even if they do, they won’t say a thing. And besides, you don’t want to get soaked in this rain, do you?”

Yuuri glanced out of the window and indeed, it was raining even heavier than before, and he would surely get soaked if he did not walk at least close to Victor under his umbrella. 

And so, he allowed himself to link his arm with Victor’s, his heart skipping a few beats as they touched. Victor was so close, so dangerously, wonderfully close, and so very warm.

“Shall we?” Victor picked up the umbrella and guided Yuuri out of the pavillion and into the storm.

The rain drummed hard against the wooden umbrella, so loud that they could not even hear their own steps as they walked. Victor seemed to say something to him at some point, but even if the rain had not been deafeningly loud, Yuuri would not have heard him - for he was much too focused on not tripping over his own feet, or-

“Oh dear!” Victor chuckled as he caught Yuuri just a moment before he could fall on the slippery ground and pulled him against his chest. “Walk close to me, Yuuri,” he said softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I would hate to see you hurt yourself.”

Yuuri gasped as Victor suddenly pulled him close against his chest, his arm coming around his waist, resting ever so casually on his hip, as if none of this were most scandalous, as if none of this were sending the warmest of shivers down his spine and making his heart soar. 

“Come, Yuuri,” Victor smiled. “I want to show you something very dear to me.”

Yuuri could do nothing but obey, allowing Victor to pull him along, his legs and feet moving on their own. Victor was warm, so very warm, and oh, he smelled like the Heavens. 

He had no idea where they were going. Victor took him down various paths he had never walked on before, through the Sanctuary and into more hidden parts of the palace garden that Yuuri had never seen before, not even known about. They were less elaborately designed than the Sanctuary - most of the plants were either trees or bushes, with wooden benches underneath them, making these gardens the perfect place for some silent reading in the very heart of nature. 

“These were the gardens of my mother and father,” Victor explained. “But what I want to show you lies beyond these corners. Come.” His gentle grip around Yuuri’s waist tightened. “Close your eyes. I will guide you.”

Yuuri blinked. “H-uh?”

“Don’t be afraid,” Victor chuckled. “You can trust me.”

Yuuri wanted to tell him that he did trust him, and that he was more worried about his anxiety, yes, that it was  _ he  _ whom he did not trust. But Victor looked at him with such adoration, such excitement, that Yuuri obediently closed his eyes and held onto him. 

“Lead the way, then,” he said.

He felt Victor’s chest vibrate as he laughed. “It won’t be long. Promise.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, allowing himself to hold tighter onto Victor’s arm as they began to walk again. Victor was walking slower than before to make sure Yuuri did not trip, keeping him close to him and caressing his waist ever so gently as he took him deeper into the maze that the palace gardens were. Yuuri had no idea where they were at this point, and he was sure that if he had been out here alone, he would never be able to find his way back.

But he was not alone. Victor was with him, holding him, making sure he was safe.

Yuuri had never felt so protected before.

Suddenly, they came to a halt, and Victor squeezed his hip. “Here we are,” he said happily. “Open your eyes, Yuuri.”

Yuuri did as he was told and looked up, at loss for words the moment he laid eyes upon what Victor had meant to show him.

It was a house. Except that it was not.

It was bigger than that, and shaped differently - and entirely made of glass.

“What is this?” Yuuri asked in confusion. 

“A greenhouse!” Victor declared with a big smile. “They have those everywhere in the West. The British ambassador showed me pictures, and I just knew that I had to have one. So I had them send me plans for one. It’s a place of refuge for me, you know.”

“What…. What is it for?” Yuuri asked curiously. “I mean, a house of glass?”

“It’s like an indoor garden,” Victor explained. “Come, I’ll show you!”

He took Yuuri’s hand and approached the door, pushing it open and pulling Yuuri inside.

It was warm inside the greenhouse, incredibly warm, even. Everywhere Yuuri looked, it was green - there were plants everywhere, bushes, trees, flowers, and many more things he had never seen before. And the smell! A heavenly smell, greeting them and enchanting their senses.

“I’ve always liked gardening,” Victor said, leading Yuuri deeper into the greenhouse. “That is why do most of the work in here myself. I have two gardeners that take care of the plants in general, but I try to do as much as I can by myself. It is a lot of work, of course, but it helps me to unwind after a long day. In here… in here I don’t have to be king, you know.”

He looked over at Yuuri, squeezing his hand gently. “And I have something in here that I had wanted to show you for some time now. Come.”

Yuuri frowned, but said nothing, following Victor deeper into the greenhouse, down the gravelled path to an artificial stream. And there, next to it, stood a wooden table, and on it-

“Bonsai art!” Yuuri gasped and let go of Victor’s hand, running towards the table to admire the beautifully cut little trees.

“Indeed,” Victor said with a gentle laugh, coming to stand behind him. “They are my personal project. Japan sent one of them to me as a wedding gift all those years ago. I’ve worked hard on them since then. Do you enjoy bonsai art?”

Yuuri nodded vigorously. “My mother enjoys gardening too,” he explained. “She has several of these in our gardens. When I was little I would always help her care for them.” Yuuri smiled fondly at the memory. “We had an apple tree in bonsai art. And although it was so small, it was very determined to grow at least one apple every year. It was so heavy that it the branch almost fell off. My mother always told me that I had to be as determined as this little tree. That I should try my best at all times, so that I would get at least a single thing right. That I should never give up.”

Yuuri missed his mother terribly, and even more so these days when he longed for someone older, someone wiser, to help him understand himself.

“Your mother is a wise woman,” Victor said softly, his hand coming to rest on Yuuri’s shoulder. 

“She is,” Yuuri agreed, gently touching the small leaves of the tree. “It has something so very… soothing to take care of a living being. In Japan, we believe that everything has a soul. Every animal, every plant, every stone. And that nature rewards us if we take care of it.”

Victor hummed in agreement. “That is why I like spending time here on my own. I have never… brought someone else here. Not even Mila or… or my children.”

Yuuri shivered as Victor ran his hand down his arm, and he turned to face him, allowing the king to take his hand and intertwine their fingers. 

“I wanted to show you my place of refuge because I really like you, Yuuri,” Victor said, his voice full of warmth, full of adoration, and the mere sound of it made Yuuri’s heart ache. “I have never… felt like this before for another person since…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t understand myself, Yuuri,” he whispered. “I thought that after Galina, my heart would never heal. That I would never be able to feel the sweet pains of love again, and I did not even want to. I thought I was content… content being king, and doing my duty, taking care of the women that were entrusted to me, but I have realised that this is not the case anymore, and Yuuri, I feel so… so guilty.” He brought his free hand up to his face and covered his eyes as the tears threatened to escape them. “I love her still, Yuuri. But whenever I see you, whenever I hear your voice…”

“Victor…” Yuuri whispered in sheer despair, afraid of what Victor would say next. There was the proof that this was wrong, so very wrong, that none of this should ever be. Not just because Victor was a king. He had a late wife, and many more that still lived, that gave him beautiful children. 

Victor shook his head, reaching out to cup Yuuri’s cheek. “I was… content. But I was not happy. Only when you came here and won the hearts of my children, and I got to know you… I realised that I had been so very lonely for so long, and that when I was in your company, I felt… alive. I think I love you, Yuuri.” 

The world around them went quiet.

Yuuri stared at the man before him, at loss for words. There were a lot of things that he had been sure to hear from Victor today, explanations why Yuuri was mistaken, that he had never intended to get closer to him. That he, Yuuri, was a fool for even believing it for a single second. 

But Victor loved him.

“You… you cannot mean that,” Yuuri whispered when he found his voice again. “You cannot possibly love me, Victor.”

“Why not?” Victor breathed, pulling Yuuri closer, his fingers ghosting over Yuuri’s face in search for any sort of answer why they could not be.

“Because I cannot be what you want!” Yuuri swallowed thickly and averted his gaze, but he did not have the heart to push the other man away. “I…”

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered, gently grasping his chin and moving his head to look him in the eye. Victor was looking at him in such despair, with such longing that it broke Yuuri’s heart to see him like this. “Yuuri, what do I think do I want you to be, if not yourself?”

Yuuri let out a shaky breath. “There is not much of a choice, is there, Victor?” He asked sadly. “You have wives and concubines. Where would I find my place amongst those?”

Victor blinked at him in surprise, and Yuuri realised that Victor had not expected him to say this. “I…” Victor blushed. “Well…”

“You did not think this through, Victor,” Yuuri murmured and gently grasped his hands by the wrists, slowly pulling Victor’s hands away from his face. “This could never work. Not the way things are in Russia. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not asking you to change anything for me. I know my place.”

“No, Yuuri.” Victor shook his head and grasped Yuuri by his arms. “I’ve never been your king, and I’ve never seen you as one of my subjects. You don’t have to know your place. You are…” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I know how difficult this is, and how much I’m asking of you, Yuuri. But I can’t... I want…” Victor opened his eyes once more, looking at Yuuri in such wistfulness that Yuuri found himself unable to look away. “I want to be with you, Yuuri. I don’t know how, and I don’t know how I could ever expect you to love me in return, but I’m ready to meet you where you are. Even if you come to realise that you don’t want me, that this is too much for you-”

“But I do love you, Victor!” Yuuri cried out.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself of the opposite, Yuuri knew that it was useless. He had lost his heart to the king the moment he had been asked to dance with him. And he would never get it back, unless Victor broke it.

“I love you too, Victor,” Yuuri whispered, looking down at his feet. “And this is why I’m so scared. Because I can’t possibly be in love with a king, who lives in a world so very different from my own.”

“And I should not be in love with a teacher, but here we are,” Victor said quietly. 

“So you see why this should not be,” Yuuri murmured. “This would never work.”

“That may be...” Victor carefully took Yuuri’s hands into his own, kissing his knuckles. “But could we not try to prove destiny wrong?”

“I would not know how,” Yuuri said, more to himself than to anyone else. Victor was such a dreamer, so far away from reality, used to getting his way, that he had no idea how to make him understand that what they felt was hopeless.

“Yuuri.” Victor cupped his cheek gently. “Look at me.”

Yuuri did as he was told, although it made his heart ache more than anything else to look at Victor now, to see the love in his eyes that he, of all people, deserved the least.

“Allow me to prove destiny wrong,” Victor said softly. “I’m not going to lie. I do not know how, but I want nothing more than to be with you. Even if destiny allows me to call you mine for a short time only.” Victor closed the distance between them, resting his forehead against Yuuri’s. Yuuri shivered, his heart almost bursting in his chest, for he had never been so close, so intimately held. Any other time, he would have thought to be dreaming. 

But all of this, the pain, the desire, and the heartache - it all was real, and he wanted more of it.

He wanted Victor.

“Yuuri…” Victor’s voice was barely more than the faintest of whispers. “May I kiss you?”

“Y-Yes,” Yuuri breathed and let his eyes fell shut, allowing Victor to embrace him and capture his lips in a loving, tender kiss. 

The storm inside Yuuri’s heart and mind calmed immediately.

Victor’s lips were incredibly soft on his own, ever so hesitant in their movements as if afraid of scaring him away. But never before had Yuuri felt so loved, so protected before in someone else’s arms. Never before had he been so content in someone else’s company, as if his anxiety had been shut down the moment Victor had touched him. 

Both of them were trembling as Victor slowly pulled away, their breath coming in small gasps. “Yuuri…” Victor breathed, pressing their foreheads together as they both tried to regain their senses. “My Yuuri…”

“Kiss me again,” Yuuri whispered, bringing his hands up to Victor’s neck. “Please.”

And Victor obliged.

If anyone had come across the king and the teacher on that rainy morning in the greenhouse, neither of them would have noticed the intruder, for there was no one else in the world than the other in that moment. A hunger unknown before had come over Yuuri, almost driving him mad with desire as he leant into Victor’s kiss, holding onto him for dear life as if he were the only thing to keep him from drowning. Victor smelled like Heaven itself, the noises he was making music to Yuuri’s ears, and his hands, his strong, slender hands that Yuuri had admired so many times, held Yuuri ever so tenderly, playing with the hair in his neck in a way that made Yuuri want to melt. 

They broke apart again too soon to breathe, but neither of them let go of the other, the desire to hold the other person close too overwhelming. 

“My Yuuri,” Victor whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around Yuuri and holding him close, nuzzling his hair. “My beautiful Yuuri. I wish I never had to let go of you again.”

All sense for time and appropriate manners had left Yuuri’s body a long time ago, and he could not help but bury his face in Victor’s chest, breathing him in, his whole body trembling in ecstasy and adrenaline from their kisses. At any other time, he would have believed this to be a dream, but Yuuri was well aware that this was reality. The disruptive thoughts kept coming, the worries kept creeping into his head, warning him of the impossibility of such a relationship. 

But all those concerns did not seem to matter, or seemed to be at least quieter, with Victor’s arms around him, and his lips on his hair.

“I’m afraid, Victor,” Yuuri whispered and slowly lifted his head, reaching up to touch the other man’s cheek. “People will… people will accuse me of espionage or worse if they learn about us.”

“I know,” Victor murmured, kissing Yuuri’s palm. “We cannot let anyone know just yet. Not in times as dangerous as these. But I won’t let them accuse you of anything or let them hurt you.”

“I believe you,” Yuuri sighed, leaning into Victor’s touch, basking in it for as long as the gods would allow them to have this moment. Resting his cheek against Victor’s chest, he allowed him to hold him, the warm, soothing hands of his lover playing with his hair.

“You could always come to see me under the pretence of giving me Japanese lessons,” Victor hummed after a while. “No one would bat an eye.”

“You could definitely use some revising of the kanji”, Yuuri murmured. “They look rather clumsy.”

“Yuuuuri!”

Yuuri lifted his head again, giving the pouting, yet blushing Victor a small smile. “I like the idea,” he said quietly. “After all, that is what I’m here for. Being a teacher.”

“And an extraordinarily pretty one on top of that,” Victor smiled, laughing when Yuuri blushed the darkest red so far and pulling him in for another loving and chaste kiss. Yuuri’s eyes fell shut immediately, but far too soon, Victor pulled away again.

“I’m afraid I have to go back to my councillors,” he said. “But I hope that you will join me for dinner and… Japanese lessons tonight.”

“I’d be the most honoured,” Yuuri replied, his heart fluttering at the mere thought of spending time with Victor alone in his private chambers. “I will be there.”

“Thank you.” Victor brought Yuuri’s knuckles to his lips and kissed them ever so lightly. “I am so, so grateful for you, my Yuuri. You cannot imagine what I’ve been through these days, my heart aching at every thought of you.”

But Yuuri knew, for the ache in his own heart had been just as terrible.

“You’d be surprised at the things that I know,” Yuuri merely said, and pulled Victor down for another kiss.

* * *

 

The moment Victor and Yuuri had parted again, Yuuri had felt as if a part of his heart was walking away from him. But then, Victor had turned around to him just before walking through the gates, smiling at him in the most loving way, and Yuuri had almost fainted on the spot.

He had walked back to his rooms with Victor’s umbrella, but barely remembered any of it. 

Victor loved him.

Victor wanted to be with him.

And no one could know.

Phichit was not there when Yuuri entered their rooms, and neither was Otabek, so Yuuri assumed they had gone to the library. With a sigh, he went to sit down at his desk and look through the latest homework he had collected, but found it incredibly hard to focus. He could still feel Victor’s lips on his own, his hands on his back, still heard his whispered confessions.

It was unbelievable.

Yuuri sighed and rested his head on his arms, closing his eyes. 

He barely heard the door open after a while upon Phichit’s return, only lifting his head when Phichit patted his shoulder.

“Rough morning?” The Thai asked and sat down on the sofa near the desk. 

“You could say so,” Yuuri sighed and sat up properly again, trying to focus on the children’s homework again. But it was of no use. His mind was spinning, the words of Victor ringing in his ears and the prospect of spending an entire evening with him made his heart flutter. 

“Yuuri? Yuuri!”

Yuuri almost fell from his chair as Phichit’s voice became louder and louder - only then realising that his friend had been talking to him this whole time. “Sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I’m just tired.”

Phichit, however, was not convinced.

“Otabek,” he said suddenly without taking his eyes off Yuuri. “Would you mind reading in your room for a bit?”

The boy got up wordlessly, taking his book with him to the bedroom he shared with Phichit and closed the door behind himself.

“Now spill,” Phichit demanded. “What’s the matter?”

Yuuri kept his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him. Phichit was his best friend. In many ways, he was like a brother to him. They had even been lovers for some time in the past, sharing a room in Kyoto during their teenage years had been partly responsible for that. Phichit had been his first kiss, his first touch, his first everything.

“Yuuri?” Phichit said softly, sitting down beside him. “I’m worried about you. Is it so terrible that you cannot even-”

“Victor kissed me,” Yuuri said quietly.

Phichit stared at him. 

“What.”

“Victor kissed me,” Yuuri said again, a little louder this time, and turned his head to look at Phichit. “And I… I kissed him in return.”

Phichit looked at him for a long moment, as if he were evaluating whether Yuuri was merely joking or if he had lost his mind for good.

“The king kissed you,” he repeated slowly. “And you kissed him in return.”

Yuuri nodded, averting his gaze.

“Yuuri, are you out of your mind?” 

Phichit grabbed his arm before Yuuri could say anything, shaking him firmly. “Have you forgotten how many wives that man has? How many children? How many concubines?!”

“I’m well aware of that and I told him so!” Yuuri cried, burying his face in his hands. “But I love him so. I love him so, Phichit, so much that it hurts. And knowing that he loves me in return does not make any of this easier, believe me!”

Phichit, who had been about to respond, shut his mouth immediately at the last statement. Instead, he let go of Yuuri’s arm, speechless for a long moment.

“I told him this could never be, Phichit,” Yuuri explained to him quietly, rubbing his eyes. “But he asked me to give it a chance, to allow him to prove destiny wrong, and who am I to say no to him, Phichit?” Yuuri shook his head over and over again as he thought of the longing in Victor’s voice, the love in his eyes, and the gentleness of his touch. 

Phichit shifted a little on his seat beside Yuuri, running a hand through his friend’s hair. “You do really love him,” he murmured. “I’ve suspected so for some time. Each time you talked to him your whole face would light up. Not to mention the way you danced at the banquet.” He squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder. “Listen. I only want the best for you, Yuuri. But do you think this is a good idea, right now? People are watching us here rather closely, anyway, and-”

“No one must know, Phichit!” Yuuri pleaded, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. “I beg you! You must not tell anyone, or-”

“Yuuri, calm down,” Phichit interrupted him and took his hands. “You are like a brother to me. I would never do anything that could harm you. No one will hear a word from me. I just hope you know what you are doing.”

“I do,” Yuuri sighed, leaning against Phichit for comfort. “I know how dangerous all of this is right now. But I can’t help it.”

Phichit wrapped his arms around Yuuri and held him close, the way he had always done when the anxiety threatened to overwhelm his friend. “The things we do for love,” he said thoughtfully. “I honestly thought you’d settle down one day with a girl your parents chose for you. Or with me,” he added jokingly.

Yuuri pulled away from their hug, looking at Phichit worriedly. “You… you’re fine with this, right?” He asked, biting his lip. After all, they had been lovers for quite some time, and loved each other dearly still. 

“Of course I am,” Phichit chuckled and pecked Yuuri’s cheek. “Who knows, maybe I will find my special someone here as well.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like you have someone in mind already.”

Phichit blushed. “Well…”

“Oh my, you’ve taken a liking to Lord Giacometti.”

“Now don’t be daft, Yuuri-”

“Look how you’re blushing!” Yuuri laughed, hugging Phichit tightly. “I’m only teasing you, of course. But I think that Lord Giacometti swings your way. He is always very delighted to see you. I’m sure you have noticed that.”

Talking about something else than whatever had developed between himself and Victor was quite relieving, and indeed, Phichit seemed as if Yuuri had hit a certain nerve. 

“That may be,” Phichit agreed, leaning back on the sofa. “Many things have changed since we’ve come here. It’s definitely the wildest time of my life, I have to say.”

Yuuri moved away from the desk and joined his friend on the sofa, resting his head on Phichit’s shoulder with a sigh. “Indeed. I mean… I never thought that I would live abroad in the first place. But I definitely did not expect to fall in love with a king…”

Phichit hummed in understanding. “So what is going to happen next?” He asked. “I mean…”

“I’ll give him Japanese lessons.”

“Damn right you will.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri groaned. “I’m serious. I’ll help him with Japanese and… that way, we can spend time together without arousing any suspicion.”

“You know, ‘arousing’ is a word you should consider using in a more exciting context.”

“Phichit!”

* * *

 

For the first time in years, King Victor the Divine experienced true happiness.

It was not like the general content he felt when he enjoyed a good conversation with Mila, or like the satisfaction he experienced whenever he visited one of his wives. It was not like the joy that came over him whenever one of his children came running to him, not like the delight he felt whilst taking a long walk with Makkachin. 

This happiness was something so strange, something so beyond the understandable, that Victor could not help but call it love, and thank the gods on his knees for it.

Nonetheless, he felt a pang of guilt each time he knelt before the small altar in his chambers and lit a candle for Galina. Many nights, Victor had wondered what Galina would have said to him if she were there, what she would want for him. Victor was sure that she would have called him a fool for worrying excessively. There was no one but Yuuri that he could consult, for no one could know about them just yet. 

But opening up to Yuuri had been an incredible relief. 

It had been during one of their private Japanese lessons, one of the kind that consisted of Victor receiving a kiss for every kanji he did right, soon spiraling out of control and leaving their books forgotten on the floor. Yuuri was an incredible kisser, shy and passionate at the same time, hesitant where to touch and what to ask for, but Victor melted in his hands like ice in the sun of Spring. 

Kisses were the only thing they shared at this point, for Yuuri was hesitant to go further just yet, and Victor respected that. It was important to get to know each other better first before taking such a big step, and Victor did not want Yuuri to regret any of it. 

Upon Yuuri’s question if he was alright with this, Victor had only smiled and looked at the small portrait of Galina that he kept on his desk. “She would be very disappointed if I were not,” he had said. Something about him seemed to have given away the sadness he felt each time he looked at her picture, for Yuuri had gently wrapped his arms around him.

“Tell me about her,” he said. “If you like.”

Victor had rarely spoken about Galina after her death, as even thinking of her had been too painful. But with Yuuri, everything seemed easier, more natural, and even speaking of the woman he had loved more than anything else suddenly seemed possible.

“We got married shortly after my seventeenth birthday,” Victor said, leaning against Yuuri as he spoke. “I was incredibly nervous, for I had never met her before, and had only ever seen her picture. But it didn’t do her justice. No picture ever will. She was… shorter than Mila, soft around the middle, but with fairy-like features and the most gorgeous blonde hair. But what I noticed first about her were her eyes, and how she looked at me. Do you know the look Yura has whenever he’s interested in something, or simply amazed? He got that from her. Her eyes seemed to… look right into my soul the moment we laid eyes upon each other. And then she said she liked my hair… my hair that I despised so much because of its colour…”

“I like it very much,” Yuuri hummed, playing with it a little. “So you met her for the very first time the day you got married?”

Victor nodded. “Just like you, she thought little of the protocol. She spoke to me although I was supposed to speak to her first. After that, it was suddenly so easy to get through the entire day, knowing that there was someone with a mind of their own at my side, and not a perfectly trained princess like my teachers had always predicted.” He shifted a little on the sofa that they shared, pulling Yuuri into his lap. The other man did not resist, settling against him with a content sigh. “Later that night, we were separately taken to our bedchamber. My mother made an incredible fuss about it, and my father wished me good luck and told me to do my duty to my country. I don’t know what Galina’s mother and uncle said to her, but I’m sure it was something similar. They had prepared the room for us, with flowers ornamenting the bedposts and a monk blessing the sheets right before our eyes. Absolutely ridiculous. And when we were finally alone, I…” Victor closed his eyes. “I had never seen a girl more beautiful than Galina, wearing nothing but her nightgown and a thin robe on top of it against the cold. Her hair was falling down her back in the most gentle waves, like… like the locks of an angel. I was so speechless that she approached me and took my hands, and asked me if I was alright. Only then I found the courage to speak, and blurted out what I thought. She sensed my nervousness and suggested that we sit down and have a glass of wine first.” Victor smiled fondly at the memory. “We ended up doing nothing but talking that night. She told me everything that there was to know about her, and I did the same in return. We learnt that we shared a love for books and gardening, and she told me that she spoke not only Russian, but also German and some bits of Chinese. She often had long conversations with Christophe without me understanding a single word until she started to teach me.”

“She seems like a very smart woman,” Yuuri said softly.

Victor nodded. “She was. When morning came, we knew that they would inspect the sheets, so she pulled out a needle from her sewing basket, pricked herself into her toe and made sure some drops ended up on her side of the bed.” He laughed at the memory. “We fooled everyone that way. No one asked any more questions, especially since Galina and I wanted to lie down for a little longer. They suspected we were exhausted from marital activities, whilst we were only sleep deprived from staying up all night to talk.”

Yuuri laughed and cupped Victor’s cheek, kissing it ever so gently. “Clever.”

“It was Galina’s idea, so you’d have to praise her,” Victor replied and nuzzled Yuuri’s hair. “We had decided to wait with the… consummation of our marriage until we were both comfortable enough with each other. Which took us exactly one week, I have to admit. I was by no means a virgin thanks to, well, the concubines my father had given me, but I was so nervous with Galina. But in her arms, I spent the most wonderful hours. The palace soon started gossipping about us hardly leaving our rooms, but we did not care. Just a few weeks later, Galina began to feel sick in the mornings. And soon, the healer confirmed that she was expecting.”

Victor thought back to the day he had received the news. He had been standing outside Galina’s private bedroom, terribly afraid of what the healers would say, afraid of losing her already, but the look on the healer’s face had been a most happy one. 

“We hadn’t thought this to happen so soon, but we were overjoyed nonetheless,” Victor said. “My father praised me for being such a… dutiful son. He had already selected the names for the child, and predicted a great future for him or her. And then she lost it.”

His grip around Yuuri’s waist tightened a little. “It happened so suddenly that we had barely time to react. We were outside in the garden, taking a walk, when Galina suddenly complained about a stomach ache. I immediately took her back inside, and called for a healer, but…” Victor took a deep, even breath. “She was in a very early stage of pregnancy, so we had not made it public yet. Officially, she was suffering from a rather heavy bleeding due to her monthlies. She cried day and night, begging me to forgive her, but there was nothing to forgive. I was devastated, but I knew that she was not to blame. The priest they sent us assured us that all of this was the will of the gods, and that there was a reason behind our suffering. Galina was a very devout woman, and I believe that hearing this helped her the most. We are young, she said to me, young and healthy, and we’ll have many more.”

Yuuri gently squeezed Victor’s hand, letting him know that he was there.

“We continued with our lives, and soon, she was pregnant again. But she lost this one too. And the one after that as well. All of them very early, before anything would have been visible. My father, he… he urged me to spend time with the other women I had. And when Galina lost the fourth child in less than two years, he suggested degrading her to a secondary wife, and let another woman take her place as my principal wife. That was the first and only time I ever shouted at my father. He called me a fool in love, and that love had no place in such important matters. But I didn’t listen to him. I didn’t care that Galina hadn’t given me any children yet. I only worried about her wellbeing. And I wouldn’t let another woman take her place. She would be my queen, no matter if we had children or not. That was my promise to her, and I was determined not to break it.

My father died when I was nineteen. He had fallen ill very suddenly, and he was too old to survive the fever. I knew what had happened the moment my father’s advisor fell to his knees before us, and I held Galina closer than ever, terrified of the future. I was too young to be king, and everyone knew that. But with her at my side, it seemed less impossible. And a few weeks after my father’s funeral, Galina was pregnant again. But this time, she didn’t lose it.” A smile spread across his face, and Yuuri reached up to caress his cheek. “We couldn’t believe it. For the first time, we could see and feel our child growing, and on the first day of March, we had our little boy.” 

Yuri had been the most beautiful thing they had ever laid eyes upon, with the softest wisps of blonde hair on his little head, and the fairy-like features of his mother. 

“My mother died shortly afterwards. After my father’s death, she had lost her appetite, and never truly recovered. But seeing her grandson seemed to have been her last wish. The morning after Yuri was born, she had died peacefully in her sleep.”

“I’m so sorry, Victor,” Yuuri whispered, kissing him gently on the lips. “That must have been terrible.”

Victor only pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead in gratitude before continuing.

“Yura was a blessing from Heaven itself. Galina loved him more than anything. She wouldn’t even let the wet nurse come near him and insisted on feeding him herself. The courtiers were shocked, but no one dared to criticise her, for she was their queen now. She hardly let go of Yura, as if she were terrified of losing him, like all the others. But Yura thrived. A perfectly healthy little boy. But Galina was… weaker after giving birth to him. Not much, and she never complained, but I could feel it.”

Victor swallowed thickly, looking at the picture of her on his desk. She smiled at him, but the painter had failed to portray the joy in her eyes. 

“The first few years of being king were incredibly difficult. I had secured my position at court with Yura, but there were enough people who did not want to see me on the throne. Galina never left me alone during this time. She encouraged me to bind families to the throne by accepting their daughters as my concubines, knowing very well that I would never touch them. But her strategy worked. The protests died down. And when Yura was two years old, she was pregnant again. I did not have a good feeling about this pregnancy. I don’t know why, but…” Victor shook his head at the painful memory. “One night, I woke next to her, finding her shaking like a leaf, her arms wrapped around her middle as she cried in pain. I called for the healers, for midwives, for priests. But she was gone by the time the sun had risen over the palace.”

Victor did not even try to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, and neither did Yuuri. 

“It had been a premature birth. But our child was far too small, far too fragile, to survive any of this. Galina… lost too much blood in the process. She was not even conscious anymore by the time they placed our stillborn angel in her arms. A little girl.”

Victor barely felt Yuuri shift on his lap, and his arms wrap around his neck to hold him tight. Never before had he spoken about his past in such detail, for he had kept it all locked away in his heart, together with his feelings. 

“Don’t ask me what happened afterwards, because I do not know. I cannot remember a single thing of the week that followed Galina’s death. I cannot even remember her funeral. I cannot remember the prayers spoken for her and our daughter. I was not able to do a single thing. It was all too much for me. Yakov always remained at my side, tried to distract me with work. And for some time, it helped. But each time I saw Yura, each time I came across something that reminded me of Galina, I would break down.”

His hands were shaking by now, and Yuuri had taken them firmly into his own for reassurance. 

“I knew I had to get out of there. I left a decree on my desk, handing everything over to Yakov for the time of my absence, and rode north. The monks took me in without question. They knew who I was, but treated me as if I were one of them. I cut my hair. I followed their routine, lived like them, prayed like them. I studied the holy doctrines, worked alongside the monks on the fields. I did everything I could to numb the pain.” 

Victor brought a hand up to his eyes, wiping the tears away. “I spent five years in the monastery before I managed to regain my senses. I realised that I had left my country, my son, alone for too long. I realised that I could no longer be selfish, for I had a duty greater than any other. Upon returning to the palace, I tried to live the way the monks had taught me, selfless and in service for others. The women given to me should not suffer because of me, I realised. So I promoted some of them to secondary wives, binding their families closer to the throne. They gave me children, and each of them I love dearly. I returned to being king. But there is not a single day that I do not think of Galina. Not a single day passes that I do not miss her, and I still beg the gods to give her back to me.” 

He had then looked at Yuuri, his heart aching at the sympathy he found in the eyes of the man he loved. Yuuri had barely spoken whilst he had told him about himself and Galina, and only now Victor realised that he had not been quiet out of speechlessness. 

Yuuri merely met him where he was. 

“You are the bravest man that I’ve ever known, Victor,” Yuuri had said eventually. “Not many would have survived the pain you have been through. I’m sure that… if I had been in this situation, it would have killed me.”

Victor swallowed thickly. “It… it does not bother you that I cannot forget her?” 

Yuuri had then cupped his cheeks ever so tenderly, his beautiful, brown eyes looking down at Victor in deepest adoration. “I would never ask such a thing of you, Victor,” he whispered. “She will always be part of you. I feel merely honoured that you can love someone so insignificant like me after-”

Victor had silenced him with a kiss, and had refused to let go of Yuuri until they both desperately gasped for air. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he had breathed against his lips. “You could never be insignificant to me.”

* * *

 

Victor often thought about the night he had told Yuuri everything about his past. Since then, he felt lighter, as if a heavy weight had been taken off his shoulders. Even his evening prayers come easier over his lips, and looking at Galina’s picture after bidding Yuuri goodnight had become less and less painful.

Yuuri had been right. Galina would always be part of him. 

But Yuuri had become a part of him, too.

The young king rubbed his temple briefly as he looked down at the man kneeling before his throne. A petitioner. Once a month, Victor would allow commoners to ask for an audience with him, and he would spent an entire afternoon listening to their concerns. Each time, the halls outside the throne room were lined with people hoping to get the chance to speak to their sovereign, and Victor always did his best to see as many of them as possible.

The petitioner before him finished his proposal and lowered his head again, waiting for the king’s decision.

Victor shifted on his throne, careful not to wake the sleeping Rozalina on his lap. After playing in the garden with Makkachin, she had climbed into his lap with her favourite doll, and had promptly fallen asleep. Victor did not have the heart to move her.

“What does the law say about this matter?” He asked his advisor quietly. 

Christophe cleared his throat. “If the contract has been signed before the handshake, then it is invalid.”

“There you have it,” Victor told the man, whose face lit up. “Your business will therefore not be affected. I hope that you will continue serving the crown the way you always have, then.”

“I will, your majesty, I will!” The man exclaimed and bowed again. “Thank you! Thank you so much and may the gods bless you!”

Victor smiled lightly and dismissed the happy man with a wave of his hand. 

“How many more?” He asked Christophe quietly.

“Quite a few, I’m afraid,” the Swiss said, glancing down at Rozalina.

Victor sighed, gently rubbing his daughter’s back and kissing her head. “Well, then. The next one…”

A middle-aged man walked up to him next, dragging along a crying young girl, most likely his daughter. Upon arriving at the throne, he pushed her down on the floor before kneeling down himself to greet his king. 

Victor’s eyes narrowed at the scene. 

“Your majesty, my name is Dimitri Rojinski. I have found a husband for my daughter Yelena, a good and just man with a small fortune. She would have a good life with him. But she is stubborn, and refuses to say the vows! I have had to drag her to the temple twice, and yet, she refuses to do as she is told! Please, your majesty, you must talk sense into her! She brings dishonour to my name!”

Before Victor could reply, there was commotion by the door on the other end of the throne hall as the waiting petitioners moved to the side and let yet another person enter. Victor raised an eyebrow, leaning forward a little, only to realise that it was his Yuuri who had joined the waiting petitioners. In his hands, Yuuri seemed to hold a letter. 

“Go and see what he wants,” he said briefly to Christophe, who immediately got up and made his way over to Yuuri. If there had not been a petitioner kneeling before him just now, Victor would have gone to see him himself. 

“Please, your majesty,” the man insisted. “It cannot continue like this, for-”

“A woman,” Victor began calmly, “regardless of rank and age, has the right to refuse any husband suggested to her. If your daughter does not wish to marry the man you have chosen for her, then you have to accept that.”

The man stared at Victor with wide eyes. “But I have five daughters, your majesty!” He exclaimed. “Should I just stand there and watch if all of them refuse to marry?!”

“Well, that would be highly unfortunate, would it not?” Victor raised an eyebrow. “And let me remind you of another law. Once a child has reached the age of fourteen, you must not chastise it anymore. As your daughter is already eighteen, as you say, I wonder where the red stripes on her neck come from.”

The man seemed as if he were about to explode, but before he could say anything else, Victor raised his hand. “Your name has been noted by my scribes. Should I hear that you have married off one of your daughters against their will, or that you have punished them physically, your business and your fortune will be confiscated.”

“But your majesty!” The man shouted angrily and the guards beside the throne stepped forward, reaching for their swords. Victor raised his hand immediately, knowing that the man, regardless of his anger, would not dare to harm him. 

“Keep your voice down,” he said warningly. “For I would hate my daughter to wake to such a poor example of parenthood.”

The man was fuming by now, but remained silent.

“Go home with your daughter, and treat her with respect from now on,” Victor said. “You are dismissed.”

And with that, Victor rose from his throne with Rozalina in his arms, beckoning Yuuri to come over. Yuuri hesitated at first, glancing at the people that had been waiting for much longer than him, but as Victor was looking at him patiently, he finally began to move. 

“Your majesty,” Yuuri said quietly upon noticing the sleeping child in his lover’s arms. It felt strange to address him like that, after sharing countless kisses with him.

“Sensei,” Victor said and carefully put his sleeping daughter down on the throne, where she curled up on the cushions and hugged her doll tighter. “Let us speak in private about your proposal.”

He took Yuuri to his study right next to the throne room, waiting until the doors had closed behind them before he pulled Yuuri into a deep, passionate kiss. Yuuri squeaked in surprise, but soon wrapped his arms around his lover, returning the kiss with equal passion and dedication before pulling away again.

“Hello,” Yuuri breathed, the most adorable blush settling on his cheeks.

“Hello to you, too,” Victor chuckled and pecked his lover’s lips once more. “You are quite eager to see me, it seems. You even come as a petitioner.”

“Because that’s what I am, officially,” Yuuri explained with a small smile and showed him the letter.

“What is that?” Victor asked. 

“My sister wrote to me again,” Yuuri explained, and Victor could hear the excitement in his voice. “She and her husband are currently in this harbour town in Russia. I have no idea how to pronounce the name.” He showed Victor the line in question, and the king nodded. “I would like to… I would like to visit her there for a week or so, if that is possible. The journey would take two days there and back, and-”

“Of course you can visit her!” Victor said in surprise. “You don’t have to ask me for permission.”

“Officially, I have to,” Yuuri reminded him. “I’m employed by you.”

“Right.” Victor often forgot about this little, yet so very important detail. “But still, Yuuri, of course you can visit her. I know that you miss her very much.”

Yuuri bit his lip. “There’s something else.”

Victor frowned. “What is it, my Yuuri?” He asked worriedly, taking his hands. 

“I haven’t… I haven’t received my salary yet,” he murmured. 

“Oh.” Victor blinked in surprise. “Yes. Right. Sorry about that. How much do I owe you?”

“Uh, about 300,000 rouble.” 

“Good lord, you’re expensive.” Victor pecked his lips. “I shall see to it immediately.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said softly. “I need to pay for the carriage and everything, so-”

“But Yuuri!” Victor sighed, shaking his head. “Do you really think I’d let you travel in public carriages? No, you shall travel appropriate to your station. I will arrange it all for you. The carriage, the guards, the accommodation on the way, everything.”

“But Victor!” Yuuri breathed, shaking his head. “That… that is far too much, you don’t have to do that!”

“Ah, ah, Yuuri, as your employer, I insist,” Victor said and pulled him into his arms once more, intertwining their fingers. “Only the best for the teacher of my children. For the owner of my heart.”

“Oh Victor,” Yuuri groaned in embarrassment, blushing even more and hiding his face in his lover’s chest. 

Victor pressed a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s hair, breathing in his sweet, delicious scent. “Come back to me as fast as you can,” he whispered. 

“I will,” Yuuri replied quietly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! :)


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> Uni has been hell for me lately, so this chapter comes later than usual.
> 
> Warning: Death of a minor.

**Seven**

* * *

 

Yuuri kept the letter of his sister safely in his breast pocket at all times, almost afraid of losing it, the promise of seeing her again so far away from home.

Upon receiving her letter and invitation, he had burst into tears, for he had not seen her in an incredibly long time. The bond between brother and sister was a strong one, and watching her leave to live in the house of her husband had upset the thirteen-year-old Yuuri terribly. Traditionally, Mari had been supposed to stay in the home of her husband, and live the life of a samurai’s wife, but she had never cared much for tradition anyway. And so, she had often spent her afternoons within the walls of her childhood home, keeping an eye on her baby brother, giving him advice when needed. Mari had been the one to encourage him in his studies, and she had been the one to advise him when he’d been unsure about travelling to Russia. In Mari, Yuuri had his greatest supporter beside Phichit, and he loved her deeply.

He was not sure what she would have to say about his relationship with Victor. 

Just as he had promised, Victor had arranged everything for Yuuri’s trip to the coast, no matter how many times Yuuri tried to convince him not to waste the state’s money on him. But Victor, stubborn and madly in love, had pretended not to hear a single word of Yuuri’s protests. And so, Yuuri found himself stand beside a large, magnificent carriage, including guards to keep him safe, and the children gathered around him to say goodbye. They had been devastated to hear that their beloved teacher would be away for an entire week. Especially Rozalina had cried big tears, and only several hugs and the promise of dancing with her teacher upon his return had soothed her. 

Victor had said goodbye to him earlier, in the privacy of his study, kissing Yuuri senseless against his desk and begging him to return to him as soon as possible.

Yuuri had been barely able to walk straight after that.

Now, the one to officially bid him farewell was Prince Georgi. If Victor had come personally, it would have caused even more gossip than there already was, so Yuuri did not mind. He had not exchanged many words with Victor’s cousin so far, and he was not entirely sure if the man approved of him or not. Nonetheless, Georgi was nothing but polite. 

“I wish you a safe journey, sensei,” he said with a nod. “Please do not hesitate to send a messenger should anything be the matter. His majesty would hate to hear of you being in distress.”

“I will, thank you,” Yuuri said, smiling softly as the children waved at him again from the gates whilst their mothers tried to take them back inside. “I’m sure it won’t be needed.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Georgi said and bowed briefly to him before walking away again, leaving Yuuri alone to get into the carriage. Yuuri looked at the large vehicle, internally sighing heavily. He did not need to travel in such an extravagant way, but it was incredibly tiresome to argue with Victor when it came to things like that.

Just as he was about to climb into the carriage, he heard a gruff voice call his name. 

Duke Yakov walked towards him from the other side of the courtyard, his face somber as usual. Yuuri had wondered many times if the man ever smiled. But according to Victor, this was just the way he was. 

“Good morning,” Yuuri said, bowing his head in greeting. 

“Katsuki.” Duke Yakov was probably the only one in the palace who called him that, but Yuuri did not mind. He was sure that Victor’s uncle did not approve of him anyway. “The king asked me to give you this.” He held out a scroll, and Yuuri carefully took it. It was addressed to the emperor of Japan. 

“Give this to your sister’s husband, or to someone else who can give it to the Emperor,” Yakov said. 

“I will,” Yuuri promised and bowed his head once more. “Consider it done.”

Yakov said nothing to that, merely studying Yuuri from head to toe. It was as if he were looking for something to criticise, Yuuri thought, for anything that would give him a reason to bark at him. 

“My nephew is satisfied with your work,” he said eventually, much to Yuuri’s surprise. “His children mean a lot to him.”

Yuuri was not sure what the man was trying to say, but he chose to smile in return. “Understandable. They mean a lot to me as well. They are most delightful.”

“And yet,” Yakov said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s been several months since a pregnancy has been announced.”

Yuuri blinked in confusion. 

“Victor has a duty to his people, and to his wives,” Yakov continued, never taking his eyes off Yuuri. “He should not allow himself to be distracted by any sort of… curiosity that might wander these halls.”

And with that, Yakov turned around and walked away, leaving behind an equally shocked and confused Yuuri. 

To any other person, this little remark would have seemed like nothing, but to Yuuri, it was as clear as day. And it did not even surprise him; for Victor was not exactly subtle when it came to his emotions, and he had always openly displayed his approval of Yuuri, regardless of their relationship at the time. 

Yuuri shook his head, trying to get the thought out of his mind, and got into the carriage, the scroll tucked away safely in his robe. He was well aware of the fact that even after a few months, some people still did not approve of a foreigner teaching the royal children. And he knew that especially Duke Yakov was suspicious of him, but Victor had told him not to worry too much about it - that it was normal for Yakov to behave this way, and that he only had the best intentions.

Yuuri truly could not blame the man. After all, he was the brother of Victor’s father, and the only family besides his children that Victor still had.

* * *

 

The journey through Russia’s countryside to the coast was a surprisingly pleasant one. It did indeed make a difference to travel in one of Victor’s carriages, for they were incredibly comfortable and offered enough space for Yuuri to even lie down for a bit. He had taken a few books with him to keep himself occupied during the journey, but Yuuri found that watching the Russian countryside was just as entertaining. It was a beautiful country, he realised, with rich nature and a unique culture. There were temples everywhere, large and small, but every single one of them magnificent in their beauty. 

Yuuri knew little of the Russian religion. He knew it was similar to Japan’s in some ways, for they had multiple gods as well, but the details of it remained a mystery to him. Victor rarely spoke about his religion, but Yuuri knew that he was a very devout man, just like the late queen had been. There were monks and priests living in the outer circle of the palace complex, taking care of the temples and officially keeping the morale up. Yuuri had never spoken to them, however, and usually, the monks and priests did not pay much attention to him.

For some time in his youth, Yuuri had wondered if his father would send him to join a convent, or tell him to become a shinto priest. It would have been an honourable profession. But academia had been a far more suitable choice, and Yuuri was grateful for the turns his life had taken, and where it had taken him.

Right into the arms of Victor the Divine.

The more time he spent with him, the less he saw him as a king. If this had been a different world, Yuuri was sure that Victor would have never become king by his own choice. A man like Yakov, determined and just, maybe. But Victor? He had a heart too tender, and a soul too fragile to be anyone’s sovereign. Or so he had claimed once whilst in Yuuri’s arms.

They spent the night in a house that belonged to the family of Lady Mila, who were delighted to welcome Yuuri to their home. They were generous in their hospitality, whilst not overbearing, and Yuuri managed to get a full night of sleep before they departed again in the morning for the last half of their journey to the town where Mari currently resided. 

One of the books that Yuuri had taken with him to read during the trip was one that belonged to Victor; a detailed history of the Nikiforov family, telling the tales of its men and women. Yuuri learnt that Victor’s grandmother had ruled Russia on her own for some time until her son had come of age, and that she was widely feared to this day to an extent that people only ever dared to whisper her name in conversation. He also learnt that Victor had had siblings at some point - one of them died before Victor was born, the other when Victor was two. It therefore did not surprise Yuuri that Victor had never mentioned them, but he felt sorry for him. Having a sibling would have taken a great weight off his shoulders, that Yuuri was sure of. 

At least he had Georgi. 

The final page of the book consisted of two drawings - one of them showing a couple, the other one a woman with a child. Yuuri immediately knew that this was supposed to show the wedding of Victor and Galina, and the queen with Prince Yuri in her arms. The artist had not put too much effort in their work, Yuuri found, for they had failed to portray Victor’s beauty completely. Yuuri noticed that Victor had had long hair at some point, wearing it in a beautiful braid over his shoulder. Yuuri wondered why he’d cut it.

“Sir?” The driver’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and Yuuri looked out of the window. “We’re almost there. It’s that building over there.”

Yuuri turned his head, his gaze falling onto a house by the shore.

And there, on what seemed to be a patio or pier, stood Mari - dressed in a dark kimono, a pipe in her hand, watching the sea. 

To Yuuri, she looked like a warrioress that would conquer them all with a single stare. 

“Can you stop here?” Yuuri asked the driver, who promptly drove to the side of the road so Yuuri could get out. He didn’t want to arrive in a carriage like this, ornamented in gold and silver, right in front of his sister, in a way that was so very unlike him. 

With every step down the path towards the pier, the heart in his chest beat faster. The wind and the salty air assaulted his senses, blinding him almost, but he kept walking towards the familiar face. 

What if he had changed so much that Mari would despise him?

Yuuri shook his head. 

He couldn’t allow such destructive thoughts to keep him from reuniting with her. 

Mari then turned her head, almost casually as if she hadn’t thought about the possibility of not being alone on the pier anymore. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she lowered the pipe in her hand as she started walking towards him, their feet moving faster with every step they took towards the other until they were within arms’ reach, and Yuuri pulled his big sister into his arms and began to cry.

“For once I’m wearing the good kimono and then my brother decides to weep onto it,” Mari murmured into his shoulder as she held him tight. 

“S-Sorry,” Yuuri hiccuped and pulled away, wiping his tears with his sleeve. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Mari smirked and patted his cheek. “You look well. So I guess you’re doing well.”

Yuuri nodded, taking in his sister’s appearance. She had not changed much since the last time he had seen her. She was still very much her father’s daughter, from the wit in her eyes to the amused smirk that seemed to adorn her face at all times. Her hair was still in a rather unusual style for a woman of her social standing, but Mari had never really cared for these things - and neither had her husband. 

“How about you?” Yuuri asked, still holding onto her, almost afraid of letting go. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Mari assured him, linking her arm with his and taking him down the pier towards the house. “Still no children, though. Not that anyone except our mother would mind. You, on the other hand, are dealing with a small army of children, I’ve heard?”

Yuuri laughed at that, at this wonderfully accurate description. Indeed, it was a small army that he got to teach every day. A small army of lovely, gentle, kindhearted children. 

“The king has got many children, yes,” Yuuri confirmed. “I didn’t think I’d be able to teach an entire class instead of just one boy but… I’m surprised I’ve managed so far.”

Mari let out a knowing hum. “You were never the most confident, you know,” she said, but it did not sound like an accusation. She merely knew her little brother well, even better than anyone else, most likely. She could read him like an open book, and his feelings and troubles never really escaped her surprisingly accurate observation skills. “But I’m very proud of you, Yuuri. Everyone is. You’re the first of our family to be in such good graces with the emperor himself. And all of that just because you liked your scriptures more than people.”

Yuuri laughed nervously, scratching the back of his head. It was true - as a child, he had often buried himself under books and scrolls instead of playing with the other children. Others had regarded him as a curiosity because of it, but his parents had always let him be. And Mari had stood up for him every time someone had tried to make fun of him.

In many ways, she was still his protector. 

“Did you come with that carriage over there?” Mari asked once they had left the pier and walked up towards the house. The carriage had parked in front of the gates, and the house servants were taking Yuuri’s luggage inside. 

“Uh,” Yuuri bit his lip. “The king insisted.”

“Huh.” Mari raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. He must approve of you very much.”

One could indeed say so.

“He thought it would be best to travel like this,” Yuuri explained. “Believe me, I did not want this but… one should not question the king.”

He followed Mari into the house and to what seemed to be a drawing room, furnished in the same Russian style that Yuuri had seen in the Sanctuary - light and airy, with fur lining the windows to keep the cold out. In the corner by the fireplace sat Mari’s husband, flipping through the pages of a folder. Upon their entrance, he looked up, greeting Yuuri with a smile.

“Dear brother-in-law, how good to see you,” he said and rose, making his way over to them and bowing respectfully. “Really, without your good name, we would not have been allowed to travel here.”

“We?” Yuuri asked curiously. 

“My company,” Mari’s husband explained proudly. “We are now starting trade relations with the Russians! We sell Japanese liquor.”

“Really?” Yuuri looked at Mari, who nodded in confirmation. 

“It was Mari’s idea, in the end, to start trade with Russia,” her husband explained excitedly as he led Yuuri to the table where tea had just been served. They sat down and Mari poured the tea for them, letting her husband do the talking for now. “I must admit that I was not too sure at first, but then she reminded me that the Katsuki family is now so very well known in Russia, thanks to you. And indeed, the name helped in building the business. Of course half of it belongs to Mari, as it should be.”

Yuuri smiled. “Now you’re a business woman,” he said to his sister. 

“A childless business woman, according to our dear mother,” Mari sighed, rolling her eyes ever so dramatically. 

“Well,” Mari’s husband cleared his throat nervously. “They still have you, after all. Who knows when you will get married? I’m sure that you will have quite a few children of your own one day, Yuuri-kun. Heaven knows that you’re getting a lot of practise these days. What are they like?”

“Indeed,” Yuuri agreed softly as he thought of the royal children. “They are all so very lovely. Well-raised and loved by their mothers and their father. The king cares very much for them, and wants to have them all educated.”

“Yes, Mari told me that you’re now teaching them all and not just the heir to the throne,” his brother-in-law said. “And the wives, too? How many does he have?”

“Eleven,” Yuuri answered, causing his brother-in-law to gasp. 

“Eleven!” He laughed. “Oh my! I already have enough to do with one!”

“Right,” Mari smirked. “I wonder what I’d do with eleven husbands.”

“Oh! We shall not even go there,” her husband chuckled and patted Yuuri’s shoulder. “Yuuri-kun, we are so happy to have you here. How long will you stay?”

“Five days,” Yuuri replied. “I cannot stay away much longer, I’m afraid, I promised the children that-”

“Oh, not to worry, not to worry.”

* * *

 

Christophe Giacometti was a man that not many people at court would dare to cross.

In fact, the majority of people that met him for the first time tended to underestimate him, for he was a foreigner, and only a scholar, no military man like most other courtiers that worked directly under the king. But one realised very quickly that Lord Giacometti was in a more powerful position than most men would ever be the moment they got to see him in the king’s company. There was no one that Victor the Divine trusted more than Lord Giacometti, for they were as close as brothers, and had grown up together. The late Lord Giacometti had been an old friend of Victor’s father, and had sent his son to the Russian court so that the young prince would have a companion. They had become more than that. Some even suspected that at some point, the king and his First Advisor had been in a relationship. 

However, this was nothing but a rumour. 

Although Victor had to admit that Christophe was a very handsome man, he had never felt attracted to him in that way. 

“Sit up straight,” Victor said sharply and Yuri almost jumped on his seat beside his father’s desk, correcting his posture. “You are in the presence of my advisors and they are sacrificing valuable time to be here. Show respect.”

The prince nodded quickly and clasped his hands on his lap, focusing on the papers that lay on the table between them. Christophe couldn’t help but be reminded of Victor when he’d been that age, sitting beside his father for hours during council meetings. Afterwards, Victor had always come to him to complain, that his father was too strict, that he had better things to do than to spend entire days in the dark council room. 

Now everything seemed to repeat itself with Prince Yuri, although with some alterations. The council room was no longer located in the darker wing of the palace, and Victor never forced the boy to stay for longer than half a day.

In many ways, Christophe thought to himself, Victor was a better father than the late king had been. In others, however, Victor seemed terrified of change. 

“The orphanages from that quarter could be closed, and instead, we could build accommodation for pilgrims there,” one of the councillors suggested eagerly, pointing at the city map. “There will be more pilgrims coming to the capital next year for the festivities, and we’ll need all the space we can get.”

“Indeed,” Victor murmured, absentmindedly chewing on the pipe that he liked to smoke during the colder months of the year. “We have a shortage of accommodation for pilgrims in the city, but that has already been a problem when my father was still alive. They seem to become more and more with each year.”

“Precisely,” the councillor agreed, leaning forward. “But the solution is right there, your majesty. It would not only offer space for the pilgrims, but also bring money to the crown. Just imagine the sums that would come to us.”

Yuri shifted on his cushion beside his father, his hands curled into fists on his lap, but the boy remained quiet. He was not supposed to speak unless Victor asked him to, and too many times in the past, he had been slapped across the face by his father for speaking out of turn. Victor was a strict father, and he was probably the strictest with Yuri, for he was his eldest and the heir to the throne. 

Christophe couldn’t blame the boy for choosing to remain quiet.

He cleared his throat a little to get Victor’s attention, and then glanced at the boy, hoping that Victor would get the message.

Thankfully, he did.

“Yuri,” Victor said, turning his head to face the boy. “What do you think about this suggestion?”

Yuri blinked in surprise at the sudden request, but quickly pulled himself together. “Beds for the pilgrims are important,” he murmured, promptly earning a smack to the back of his head from his father. 

“Speak loudly and clearly,” Victor said. “Or don’t say anything at all.”

“Beds for the pilgrims are important,” Yuri repeated, louder this time. “But you can’t just throw out the orphans with nowhere to go for them.”

“There are enough houses for the poor in the city,” the councillor replied casually. “They will take care of them.”

“They are already full,” Yuri replied, glaring at the man. “Orphans need orphanages with teachers and nice people to look after them.”

“There are lots of nice people in the houses for the poor, your highness,” the councillor said, now slightly annoyed.

“Oh, because you know, it’s not that you’ve inherited all your money from your father and your father inherited it from his and such,” Yuri spat at him sarcastically. 

Victor raised his hand before the councillor in question could shoot back another reply at the prince.

“I must say that my son is right,” he said to the other man. “Orphanages are necessary. There are other buildings in the city that can be used as accommodation for pilgrims. Like the old palais of your family, if I remember correctly.”

The councillor stared at Victor. “But your majesty-” He began, but Victor wouldn’t hear any of it.

“How shameful of you to even think of throwing innocent children out onto the street, merely for being orphans,” Victor interrupted him calmly. “And that my son, aged eleven, has to point it out.”

Christophe smiled approvingly at the young prince who seemed surprised about his little victory himself. 

“That is settled, then,” Victor said. “The orphanages won’t be closed. I suggest you come up with a better suggestion until the next meeting. You are dismissed.”

The men rose from their seats and bowed respectfully before leaving. Yuri remained where he was, knowing that his father would tell him if he was allowed to go.

“Don’t be too hard on him,” Christophe said quietly to Victor as he walked past him, briefly touching his friend’s shoulder. 

“I’m as strict as I have to be,” Victor replied. “Any news from Yuuri?”

Christophe shook his head. “No. But I’m sure he’ll be back in a few days.”

Victor sighed. “Yes. Probably. Thank you.”

Christophe gave his friend a sympathetic smile before he left, closing the door behind him. It was not necessary for Victor to tell him anything - Christophe had known that something had developed between the king and the teacher long before the two had known it themselves. 

Christophe merely hoped that they knew what they were doing.

The moment they were alone, Victor clasped his hands behind his back and walked over to the window. It was a terribly rainy day, and the wind rattled the windows in their frame. No sane person would go outside in such terrible weather conditions. “The Guidelines to Being a Good and Just Sovereign, paragraph 242,” Victor said calmly, not turning his head.

Yuri shifted on his cushion. “The council members serve the monarch with their advice and wisdom,” he recited. “All of them are to be elected wisely. Personal feelings must not affect the king in his choice of advisors. He must respect them in order to be treated with respect in return.”

“Precisely,” Victor nodded, watching the rain continuously hit the window. “You spoke disrespectfully to Lord Petrov.”

“But father!” Yuri exclaimed. “He-”

“It does not matter if you disagree with him or not,” Victor interrupted him and turned around once more. Yuri immediately shut his mouth. “You have insulted him in a personal way. And that is unacceptable.”

Yuri lowered his head in shame. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on his lap as he waited for another smack to the back of his head. But surprisingly, none came. Instead, his father walked around him and back to his desk. 

“You will apologise to Lord Petrov tomorrow.”

“Yes, father.”

Yuri lifted his head again, watching as his father flipped through the pages of a folder that Lord Petrov had brought to him earlier. This was the time of the day he hated the most, when he had to sit beside his father and watch him work, and listen to his lectures about the affairs of the state. 

Reading together with Otabek would benefit him much more than this, Yuri was sure of that. 

“Careless work, as usual,” Victor muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he put the folder down on his desk again. “But what else could one expect from a Petrov…”

Yuri frowned at that. “I have a question, father,” he said.

“Yes?” Victor said, taking a seat at the desk and reaching for quill and ink. 

“You don’t like Lord Petrov either,” the boy said. “Then why is he even in the council?”

“Recite paragraph 242 once more,” Victor said impassively as he began to make his corrections in the folder.

Yuri sighed. “The council members serve the monarch with their advice and wisdom,” he recited once more. “All of them are to be elected wisely. Personal feelings must not affect the king in his choice of advisors. He must respect them in order to be treated with respect in return.”

“There you have your answer.”

“But father,” Yuri groaned, crossing his arms. “He’s an idiot! He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about!”

“Not when it comes to social matters, no,” Victor agreed. He put the quill aside and clasped his hands on top of the documents, regarding his son attentively. “But the Petrov family has been loyal to the crown for generations. Furthermore, they are in charge of an army of twenty-thousand men. Lord Petrov is a military expert, and he has only the best in mind for our kingdom. It does not matter whether I like him or not. He is useful, and in some matters other than social ones, he knows what he is doing. That is why I keep him close to the crown. Never have men like him, families like his, as your enemy.”

Yuri thought about his father’s words for a long moment, eventually coming to the realisation that his father was right. It was indeed smart to keep such people close to the crown, where one could control them.

“I think I understand it now,” he said, much to his father’s delight, who patted his shoulder in approval before returning to making corrections. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

Victor paused in his corrections, looking at the boy in surprise. “Where did you get that from?”

Yuri shrugged. “A book that Katsuki-sensei gave me,” he said. “A book about the art of war. He said he gave it to you as well.”

“Ah, I think I remember,” Victor murmured, scratching his temple. “It must among all the other books that he gave me. I did not know that you liked to read so much, Yura.”

“I read when I’m with Beka,” Yuri explained, blushing a little as he realised that he’d been using the diminutive for his friend’s name. But if his father had noticed, he didn’t let it show. “He’s good company for reading.”

Victor looked at his son thoughtfully for a long moment. “You don’t like being alone too much,” he said quietly. “I guess that is my fault.”

Yuri shook his head. “You did what you had to do, father.”

Victor didn’t entirely believe him, but decided to drop the subject at least for now. This was not a conversation he was ready to have with his young son. Maybe in a few years, when he was a little older. 

“You can go, Yura,” He said softly and continued writing. “You’ve learnt more than enough today, I think. Go and find your friend.”

Yuri didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately rose from the cushion beside his father and made the obligatory small bow towards him before rushing to the door.

“Yura?”

The boy turned his head. 

His father was looking at him with a strangely pained expression on his face - as if merely looking at him was a great effort, but something he liked still. 

“You remind me so much of your mother,” Victor said softly. “In everything you do, you are making her very proud. Never forget that.”

Yuri did not remember much of his mother. He had been two years old when she had died, too young to remember her voice, her laugh, her hugs or her kisses. All he had from her was a small portrait in a locket that he kept around his neck at all times. He touched it absentmindedly at his father’s praise. 

“I won’t,” he murmured. He opened the door, only to bump into Mila that had been just about to knock on the door.

“Sorry,” Yuri said quickly and moved aside for her, letting her enter. 

The woman briefly curtsied before addressing Victor. “I just came to tell you that we’ve called for a healer for Rozalina. She’s caught a cold, I believe, but I thought that it would be best if a healer took a look at her.”

“Of course,” Victor nodded, not bothering to look up again from his work. “Do what you think is best.”

Mila hesitated, remaining where she was, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. 

Victor looked up. “What else?” He asked. “I’m awfully busy.”

“She misses you,” Mila sighed. “Victor, you have barely left this study since Katsuki-sensei’s departure and-”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Victor asked sharply. “What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, Victor,” Mila assured him and took a few hesitant steps towards him. “I just wanted to say that you have not been with the children for quite some time now and they miss you. Especially Rozalina. Please.” She came to stand in front of Victor’s desk, touching the smooth wooden surface with her fingertips. 

Victor sighed and put the quill aside, rubbing his face. It was true, he had locked himself away in his study since Yuuri’s departure, in order to distract himself from the man’s absence. 

“I will go and see her once I have finished this,” he murmured, looking up at his favourite wife. She had this title for a reason, for she knew how to read his mood in any situation. She knew when to remind him of certain duties, and when to leave him alone. In many ways, Victor thought to himself many times, she was the perfect wife, and would most certainly be a good queen. 

But everyone knew that Mila would never take Galina’s place, and Mila never questioned her position at court.

“Thank you,” she said softly and briefly touched his hand. “Don’t overdo it, please.”

Victor gave her hand a brief reassuring squeeze before he returned his focus to his work, and Mila left him alone again, carefully closing the door behind herself.

* * *

 

It had taken Yuuri only one night of good sleep to adjust to Mari’s company again and soon, it was as if they had never been apart from the other. In the mornings, she would greet him with a brief hum and place tea, rice, and miso soup in front of him before stuffing her pipe. Her husband would greet him with a jovial smile, and make a little joke about his wife’s love for tobacco before leaving the room to go for a morning walk. They went into the nearby town for little excursions, explored the forest and the beach, and spent their days talking about this and that. Yuuri was relieved to hear that their father seemed to feel better, and had merely been overworked. Their mother spent her days taking care of the gardens, and she had taken a liking to helping out in the local community, wherever her help was needed.

And wherever they went these days, they were asked about Yuuri. And every time, so Mari assured him, they told the people how incredibly proud they were of him. 

“Now don’t belittle yourself again,” Mari warned her little brother before he could even open his mouth. She took a drag from her pipe and blew the smoke out into the air. “You’ve earned this job more than anyone else. You’ve been constantly praised by the emperor for your work. You’re good at what you do, if not even the best. And the Russian king trusts you. Isn’t that enough of a proof?”

Yuuri let out a deep sigh, resting his head on his arms on top of the table. It was raining heavily again, so they had no choice but to spend their day indoors. 

“Don’t even question it,” Mari hummed, leaning against the table. “You know I’m right. And if that king doesn’t complain then you surely can’t be too bad at your job. What’s he like anyway? The king. I’ve heard he’s rather moody and yells at everyone that looks at him the wrong way.”

“That’s not true,” Yuuri said a little too quickly. “He’s very kind, actually, and I’ve never heard him yell.”

Mari tilted her head to the side, studying her baby brother curiously. “So you’re around him a lot?” She asked. “I thought he’s leaving the kids in the care of women.”

Yuuri shook his head. “No. I mean, yes, kind of, but he cares about them very much. He visits them almost every day and they’re allowed to come to him whenever they want, and he’s very fond of this little girl, Rozalina. I think she’s his favourite daughter. She’s absolutely lovely, believe me. He always carries her around.” Yuuri smiled fondly at the memory. He loved the sight of Victor with Rozalina in his arms, cuddling and kissing her. 

“You’re drooling.”

“H-Huh?”

Mari eyed her baby brother curiously. “I’ve seen you like this before,” she said slowly. “Right after you and Phichit started doing nightly shenanigans when you were sixteen.”

“It’s not-”

“Hey, calm down,” Mari said, raising her hands in defense. “I’m not telling you what to do. If you’re warming the bed of a king then-”

“I’m not warming his bed!” Yuuri snapped before he could hold himself back, regretting it instantly - for Mari was now looking at him more knowingly than ever. But she remained silent, merely chewing on her pipe, giving him all the time he needed. 

“I’m not warming his bed,” Yuuri murmured, grabbing the cup of tea that had been placed before him on the table. “I’m doing nothing of the sort. I’m just…” He trailed off, not sure what to say. Saying it out loud would mean admitting things to Mari. Not that remaining silent would help his case. She knew him better than anyone else, after all.

“It must be difficult,” she said after a while, and Yuuri was not sure when he had last seen her so thoughtful. “To be in love with a man like that.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh sadly at that remark. 

Indeed, it was incredibly difficult. Impossible, almost. 

“It’s difficult for him as well,” Yuuri said quietly, watching the steam rise from the cup in his hands. “It’s why we haven’t told anyone. We don’t know how this could possibly work. His world is so very different from ours, Mari. He has so many wives, and concubines, and then there are the children. There is no place for me amongst them, but also nowhere else. We try to get by, day after day, just to see each other when no one is paying attention, knowing perfectly well that this is leading nowhere.”

He raised his head, finally meeting his sister’s gaze again. Mari was looking at him thoughtfully, but there was no judgement in her eyes. 

If anything, there was sympathy.

“I can’t help you there, little brother,” she said eventually. “I really do hope that you can find a way that will make you both happy. Something you both can live with. But keep yourself in mind at all times. Your own worth. Your own life. Do not sacrifice a single part of yourself for this man, or for anyone else. You don’t deserve a life in the shadows, Yuuri. That king either makes an honest man out of you in some way, or he can go fuck himself.”

“Mari!”

“I don’t care that he’s the king,” Mari continued, entirely unfazed by her brother’s protest. “I merely don’t want to watch you get your heart broken. You said you live in entirely different worlds. Then you have to find a way to connect them. Either that, or one of you will suffer. Which, I fear, will be you, in the end.”

Yuuri knew that Mari was right. Mari possessed the ability to see things as they were, allowing her to be able to judge in a rational way. She had always kept Yuuri grounded, and Phichit, too, in some ways. And once again, Mari proved that there were only two possible outcomes for his dilemma. 

They either found a way, or one of them would fall apart.

“You don’t have to have an answer now,” Mari murmured, touching Yuuri’s arm gently. “Just make sure that you don’t settle for less than you deserve.” 

* * *

Mari’s words stayed with Yuuri the entire way back to the capital, giving him time to reflect on them. It hurt to know that she was right, that a fatal outcome might be inevitable if they did not find a solution to their problem. There had to be a way, Yuuri told himself over and over again as he held the handkerchief Victor had gifted him some time ago close to his chest. Their situation was admittedly an extraordinary one, an incredibly difficult one, but there surely had to be a way. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow. But perhaps in a few months time, or in a year? Maybe there was an incredibly simple solution to all of this that they could merely not yet see?

Yuuri barely noticed that they had already reached the gates of the palace complex, for he was too lost in his own thoughts to notice the people running towards his carriage. Only as the familiar voice of Lord Giacometti reached his ear, the teacher looked up.

The king’s advisor stood by the large, golden gates that led into the inner palace, with an expression of greatest distress on his face.

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat.

The moment the servant opened the door of the carriage, Yuuri jumped out of the vehicle and approached the other man, who had begun to walk towards him as well. In the distance, he could hear the monks chant in the temple - a simple, yet eerie prayer that sent cold shivers down his spine.

“ _ Sensei _ , you must come with me immediately,” Lord Giacometti said the moment he had reached him. “The Princess Rozalina, she-”

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat. “What about her? What is going on?”

Lord Giacometti put a hand on his back and took him inside. Yuuri noticed the lack of people in the hallways and gardens, as if they had all been sent away at once. 

“They found Rozalina in the gardens as it rained, shaken by fever,” Giacometti explained quickly as they walked. “The king had sent for healers immediately, the best in the realm, but they could not do anything, despite their efforts. The fever won’t go down, she is barely able to breathe anymore, and the healers say that she will not be of this world for much longer.”

Yuuri stopped in his tracks, grabbing a wooden pillar for support as horror and shock washed over him, and the world around him became very, very quiet.

“N-no,” he whispered, his eyes wide as he shook his head over and over again. “This can’t be, I saw her just before I left, she was healthy, she-”

“We must keep going, sensei, I beg you!” Giacometti said and grabbed him by the arm again, pulling him along.

Somehow, Yuuri’s feet obeyed.

“Isn’t th-there anything that c-can be done?” Yuuri heard himself say, barely noticing where they were going, or the people that they were walking past. They had reached the inner part of the palace, and the wing where the king’s family lived. Lining the hallway, the children were kneeling on the floor with their mothers, their little hands clasped demurely on their laps, watching their teacher walk past them with big eyes. In the distance, monks were chanting their prayers, the sound filling the air like an unholy omen.

“We have already begun, listen,” Giacometti said, referring to the chanted prayers. “The Russians believe that with prayer, the soul will be guided towards Heaven. There it shall go, and not be distracted on its way. If this is interrupted, the soul will notice the sadness of those that are left behind, and will stay in the realm of the living to comfort them.”

Yuuri wanted to scream, he wanted to shake Giacometti and beg him to tell him that all of this was just a cruel joke, that somewhere behind these doors, a little princess was happily playing and waiting for him with a new drawing. But no words came out of his mouth. 

They had reached a door at the end of the hallway, behind which a single monk’s prayer was to be heard. In front of it stood Duke Yakov and Prince Georgi, eyeing the newly arrived teacher. 

“What is he doing here?” Yakov asked in a low voice. “This is a family matter.”

Lord Giacometti glared at him. “Katsuki-sensei is here upon the king’s personal request,” he said before turning to Yuuri again, who looked at him in greatest despair.

“Victor asked me to take you here the moment you would come back,” he said quietly, and for the first time, Yuuri could hear the deep connection that Victor and his advisor shared in the other man’s voice. “He is incredibly grateful for what you have done for his daughter. Rozalina has mentioned your name so very often.”

Yuuri did not want to hear any of this. He did not want to hear the other man speak with such finality, as if there was nothing in the world that could be done, as if there was indeed the inevitable waiting for him behind that door. 

Would no one speak up, and declare all of this a jest?

Lord Giacometti then opened the door for Yuuri, and gently pushed him inside.

The room he entered was one Yuuri had not been to before. It was the one of a child, with toys scattered all over the floor, a bed in the centre, and large windows to let in the sunshine in the mornings. But now, they were closed, and the curtains drawn except for one to let in some light. A monk knelt on the floor, praying quietly with a single candle in his hand.

And there, on the bed, sat Victor with Rozalina in his arms, rocking her slowly back and forth as he sang to her the princess’ most beloved lullaby. Only at the gentle sound of the door closing, he lifted his head, and looked Yuuri in the eye. 

For the first time, Yuuri saw the frailty of life in the eyes of the man he loved, and the bravery of a man that hid his own fear in order to comfort his own child. 

Never before had Yuuri witnessed something like this, a child resting in the arms of her father, the girl’s forehead glistening with sweat as her chest rose and fell with greatest effort. Victor lowered his head, whispering something to her in Russian of which Yuuri could only make out his own name. Rozalina stirred, and Yuuri closed the distance between door and bed, not caring what anyone would think of it, and sat down beside her.

“Hello, little princess,” Yuuri whispered, swallowing thickly as he reached out to brush a strand of blonde hair out of her face. At that, Rozalina stirred again, and she turned her head ever so lightly and opened her eyes. At the sight of her beloved teacher, a small smile spread across her face, and Yuuri couldn’t help but smile in return. She was there, and she recognised him, and she blessed him with the most beautiful gift that a child could give.

Victor took Yuuri’s hand and placed it on Rozalina’s, whose fingers instinctively curled around Yuuri’s and held onto them. Yuuri looked up at his lover, begging him without words to tell him that there was hope, that there was something, anything, that could be done. But Victor remained silent, and he held Rozalina closer to his chest, kissing her forehead with the tenderness that only a loving father could possess.

And then, Rozalina let go, her fingers brushing against Yuuri’s palm, and her head fell to the side against her father’s chest.

For a moment, a deep silence had fallen over them, only interrupted by the constant prayers of the monk. But then, a sob escaped the king’s throat, and then another, and the tears streamed down his face as he pressed his daughter against his chest and cried for her, rocking her back and forth in his tight embrace as if that alone would bring her back to life. He clung to her, refusing to let go, sobbing her name over and over again, giving her a thousand blessings. 

Yuuri sat stone-still, unable to breathe, to see, to think, as the horror washed over him. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that Yuuri could do, as the cries of his beloved could be heard throughout the palace, for he lamented the loss of what he had held most dear, of the child that everyone knew he had loved the most. 

And somewhere, among Victor’s desperate cries, were also his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short, but incredibly important chapter.

My most beloved Guang Hong,

It has been several months since you have been ripped out of my heart. Every day that I am forced to spend without you reminds me of the frailty of happiness. Every moment is precious, and we must treasure everything that is given to us. 

Therefore, I will devote my life to the gods.

Only my faith can offer me salvation now. Only in the ever gracious embrace of the gods I will be able to find peace.

I will never forget you, my beloved. 

I will always carry you in my heart. 

Please do not forget me, wherever you may be.

I love you.

_ Leo _


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah! I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for AGES!
> 
> Enjoy it! :)

**Nine**

* * *

 

Three days after Rozalina’s passing, the farewell ceremony was held behind the palace, where the Endless River met the sea.

Yuuri stood by the shore of the river, watching wordlessly as the boys and girls carefully lowered the swimming lanterns into the water. The tradition was an ancient one, according to Lord Giacometti. The lanterns would be the guiding light for the soul, accompanying it on its way to Heaven. For Yuuri, who knew that Rozalina had loved all sorts of beautiful things, it was an incredibly thoughtful way for the children to say goodbye. The boys and girls had worked day and night on their lanterns and had painted them in the most beautiful colours to honour their little sister. Even Otabek had made a lantern, and he carefully lowered it into the water with the help of Yuri. Then he stepped back with a solemn look on his face, watching it join the other lanterns on the river as the stream carried them away, towards the sea.

The last few days had been an endless nightmare, the silence that had fallen over the palace terribly deafening. As if all the joy, all the life, had been taken from the world the moment Rozalina had left it. And in the midst of it all had been Victor, desperate and lost, sobbing against Yuuri’s chest until there were no more tears left to shed.

Neither of them had slept much the previous nights, and Yuuri was not sure if he would be able to stay strong for much longer.

“Sensei?”

The soft voice of a child pulled Yuuri out of his thoughts. Prince Yuri had appeared beside him all of a sudden, his small, tender hands clasped behind his chest. It was a posture that Yuuri had seen on him more often these days, usually when the boy was in a more thoughtful mood. It seemed that the boy was now in the process of growing up more, slowly maturing into a teenager.

If there were only happier circumstances to this, Yuuri thought to himself.

“Yes, your highness?” He asked, giving the boy his full attention.

“I was wondering…” Yuri bit his lower lip. “Now that… that my father is grieving, I was wondering if there was anything that I could do that would help him. Since you have been with him during these… these days.”

Of all the things Yuuri had expected him to say, this was certainly not it.

But the crown prince was not a little boy anymore.

“It is very thoughtful of you to want to help him,” Yuuri said softly and briefly touched the boy’s shoulder. “But I think for now it is best if you just worry him as little as possible. That you give him all the time that he needs to come to terms with this loss. For you see, grief is something that every person deals with differently.”

Yuri nodded a little. “I know that, sensei,” he said. “But I also know that my father left the last time. I don’t… I don’t want him to leave again.” The boy lowered his gaze, as if he were ashamed of admitting it.

Yuuri turned his head, scanning the crowd for the familiar silver head of hair. It was not hard to spot him. Victor stood on top of the hill behind them, impeccably dressed in dark mourning attire, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword that he carried on his belt as he wordlessly watched his family.

His face was void of emotion, but Yuuri had the strange feeling that Victor was aware of the fact that he was looking at him.

“I understand your concerns, your highness,” Yuuri said and returned his attention to the prince again. “I won’t assume the right to say that this won’t happen. But I believe that… that his majesty will need time to come to terms with the loss of Princess Rozalina. We all do. If he wishes to spend some time alone, then we have no right to deny him that.”

The young prince said nothing to that, merely following Yuuri’s gaze up to his father for a moment before looking over at the rest of his family, his siblings and step-mothers, all of them either standing or kneeling by the shore of the river, watching the light of the lanterns flicker in the wind. They all had their ways of coping with the loss of the princess, it seemed, some of them openly crying, others merely hugging one another.

And as emotionless as Victor seemed in this moment, Yuuri knew that the king had been crying day and night, begging the gods to give him his daughter back.

“How about you, though, your highness?” Yuuri asked eventually. “How are you feeling?”

Yuri crossed his arms, very much like his father did many times when he was not sure how to express what he wanted to say.

Just like with Victor, the key was to give the boy all the time he needed to reply.

“I miss her very much,” he said quietly. “But there’s nothing I can do, so I guess I’ll just have to sit it out.”

Yuuri was about to reply when Lord Giacometti approached him and greeted him and Yuri with a brief bow of his head. “His majesty would like to speak to you, sensei,” the advisor said, briefly glancing at the prince as if he were not sure whether he was interrupting an important moment. “If it is not inconvenient.”

Yuuri shook his head. “I’ll be with him in a moment,” he assured him, not wanting to leave the boy alone in his grief. Thankfully, Lord Giacometti seemed to understand, and walked away again to give them space.

“It’s not like losing my mother, you know,” Yuri said once the man was out of sight. “I don’t really remember her. But now it’s… I don’t know.” He absentmindedly kicked one of the stones by the shore into the water.

Yuuri crouched down to the boy’s level, gently taking his hand. “I won’t tell you how to grieve, your highness,” he said quietly. “But if you ever need to speak to someone, please reach out. To me, to Lady Mila, to Phichit, or to Otabek. To anyone, really. But don’t lock your grief away until it becomes unbearable. Yes?”

Yuri nodded softly, and gave the hand of his teacher a light squeeze. “Okay.”

“Good.” Yuuri rose again and let go of the boy’s hand. “I think Otabek is waiting for you over there.”

The prince turned around and spotted Otabek near his siblings, helping one of the younger ones to put another lantern into the water. And with that, Yuri walked off, joining his friend.

Yuuri watched him go, waiting until he could be sure that he was safe and in the supervision of his stepmothers before he followed Giacometti’s request and walked up the hill towards Victor, who he had not seen for two days.

The night following Rozalina’s passing, neither Yuuri nor Victor had slept. Instead, they had spent it together in Victor’s rooms, not caring if anyone would talk about it, not caring about the opinion of Yakov or Georgi who had watched them emerge from Rozalina’s room together. Yuuri had helped Victor to stand, keeping him upright and walking, for the king was not able to do so himself. Several times, Victor had turned around, gazing back to the room of his daughter, whispering her name, unable to let go. It had broken Yuuri’s heart to see him like this, to be forced to drag him away from his child so that they could take her when everything in him screamed to do the opposite.

That night, Victor had broken down in his arms, and they had clung to each other for dear life.

And when there had been no more tears left to shed, Victor had fallen asleep with his head on Yuuri’s lap as a broken man.

He had spent the following two days in the temple without Yuuri, who had wanted to give him space and some time to himself. But that did not mean that he had not worried immensely about Victor, despite his own overwhelming grief.

Victor turned his head as Yuuri approached him, greeting him with a small nod. To more, it seemed, Victor was not capable of doing these days.

“Your majesty,” Yuuri said softly, addressing him with his title and bowing to him since they were in public, but Victor merely shook his head lightly.

“It is not like we are fooling anyone now,” Victor said, briefly glancing at Yakov and Georgi, who were watching the children in the distance. “I believe they all saw right through us when you did not leave my chambers. I’m honestly surprised that Yakov has not barked at me yet to tell me off.”

Yuuri demurely clasped his hands, not sure how to behave around Victor in such a setting. Victor did not seem interested in hiding them any longer, but it was hard to tell what he expected of Yuuri in return.

“I don’t… I don’t know if we should… under these circumstances…” Yuuri murmured, playing with the hem of his sleeve. “You might regret it later.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” Victor said in an incredibly gentle voice, reaching out to brush his hand over Yuuri’s arm. “I have never been able to think clearer than now. I am aware of what I am doing.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were not,” Yuuri replied, catching Victor’s hand as it reached his wrist and intertwining their fingers for a moment, out of sheer instinct. “I merely don’t want you to rush things you might do out of grief. I do know what it feels like. It is… so unbelievably painful for me already that I don’t even want to imagine what it must be like for you.” Yuuri looked down at their joined hands, not caring about the looks that others might give them. “I wish I could have done… anything, really, to-”

“Don’t be daft,” Victor replied and shook his head. In any other context, he would have appeared rude, but Yuuri knew him well enough to know what was behind those words. “Fever and pneumonia like that are almost impossible to survive for a grown man already. My angel did not have a chance. Nothing you could have done would have changed that.”

“I know,” Yuuri whispered, his heart aching at the gentle squeeze of his hand that Victor gave him. If anyone looked at them now, they would immediately know that there was more than just friendship between the king and the teacher. That the looks they gave each other were ones of love, and that they were holding onto each other not just for the moment, but for dear life.

As inappropriate as it all seemed - Yuuri did not have the heart, nor the will, to let go of Victor’s hand.

“Walk with me,” Victor said softly, and let go of his hand to take Makkachin, who had been sitting beside him, by the collar. Yuuri followed him, walking beside him instead of behind him as officially required. It was a chilly, windy day, and the sun had a hard time reaching them through the clouds. Winter was approaching fast, and with it months of darkness. And although Yuuri knew that Victor was a true child of Russia and used to it all, he could not help but fear for Victor’s mental wellbeing during those months.

“Are you religious, Yuuri?” Victor asked as they reached the pathway down to the road, where their carriages were waiting. “I do not recall myself ever asking.”

And indeed, Victor had never asked.

“We have many gods in Japan,” he explained. “There are many different beliefs and ways of worship, and-”

“Yuuri, that is not what I asked,” Victor interrupted him gently. “I asked if you, personally, were religious.”

Yuuri fell silent at that.

“You don’t need to have an answer,” Victor said as they walked right past the carriages, for he had decided to walk the rest of the way to the palace with Yuuri. “I was merely curious. I shouldn’t have asked you out of the blue.”

“That is not it,” Yuuri rushed to say. “I just… never really gave it a good thought, I suppose.”

Victor hummed in understanding. “Faith has something very comforting, in my opinion,” he said, offering Yuuri his arm, who took it without hesitation. “It tells me that my little angel is at a safe place now. Most importantly, at a place where she is loved. By Galina, and by her own mother, of course. It is a place without pain, without sadness. A place where we all hope to go, one day. When our time has come.”

Victor let out a deep sigh, lifting his head to look up at the grey sky. Yuuri remained quiet. He was glad that Victor spoke to him again, that he was able to speak of Rozalina, even, without breaking down the way he had merely days ago.

But none of this meant that Victor’s heart was not still full of pain, and broken into a thousand pieces.

“Which means that one day, I will get to hold her again,” Victor said, returning his attention to the man beside him. “Although that day may be far, far away. I must remain here because I have a duty to fulfil, the priest has said.” He let out a short, sad laugh. “That may be true. But it does not ease my pain.”

Yuuri gently touched Victor’s arm. “No one expect you to function like you did before, Victor,” he said as they entered the palace again through a more secluded gate at the back.

“Oh, my Yuuri,” Victor said, shaking his head. “If that only were true.”

They had ended up in a courtyard right behind the official bureaus of Victor’s ministers and secretaries. But before Yuuri could ask why they had gone there, Victor told him.

“Unfortunately, no amount of grief is enough to save me from being king,” Victor murmured and brought his hand up to Yuuri’s cheek, caressing it gently with his thumb. “I must return to my work. As if nothing had happened.”

Yuuri leant into the touch, covering Victor’s hand with his own. “I can help you if you want me to,” he said. “That is, if I can…”

Victor smiled softly. “My Yuuri,” he said. “Always so worried. Always so thoughtful. But I’m afraid this is nothing you could help me with.”

Yuuri knew that there was more behind Victor’s words than just a reference to his duties, but did not comment on it. Victor needed time.

They all did.

And then, Victor closed the distance between them and pulled Yuuri against his chest, sealing their lips in a tender, loving kiss - with such desperation and longing that Yuuri was unable to resist.

And no courtier, no footman, would have kept him from returning the king’s display of affection.

Yuuri’s eyes fell shut, kissing Victor ever so gently as his fingers instinctively curled into the soft fabric of the other man’s jacket. Kissing Victor was something so very easy, something so very natural, something that just was, something that required no thinking. And for the last few days, they had both been starved of the love of the other, overwhelmed and controlled by grief.

Tasting the lips of the other man felt like taking one’s very first breath after a long, restless sleep.

All too soon, Victor pulled away, but only by merely an inch. “My Yuuri,” he whispered against his lips, and Yuuri turned his head to kiss Victor’s palm.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he whispered to the king. “For as long as it takes.”

Victor swallowed thickly, and he looked at Yuuri as if there was so much more that he wanted to say, so many things that he was incapable of finding words for at the moment. But Yuuri was patient.

He always would be.

“I will see you later, then,” Victor said quietly, pressing a final kiss to Yuuri’s forehead before letting go of him. Yuuri put on a smile for his beloved, brushing his hand over his arm until Victor was out of reach for good, and went back inside towards his council room where, without any doubt, the harsh reality was already waiting for him again in the shape of war and deceit.

It was cruel, Yuuri thought. But for Victor, there was hardly a day of rest. Not even under such heartbreaking circumstances he was granted some time to himself, time for his family, for the people he loved the most.

Yuuri sighed, running a hand through his hair before heading down the opposite hallway towards his own quarters. There was very little that he could do, except making sure that Victor knew that he would be there.

No matter how long it would take to reach out.

“Katsuki. A word.”

Yuuri turned around, only to find the familiar, imposing figure of Yakov standing in the archway to the inner chambers. It seemed that the man had left the riverbank right after them. Perhaps he had even followed them.

Had seen it all.

“In private,” Yakov added gruffly. “If you’d follow m-”

“I believe I know what you want to say, with all due respect,” Yuuri replied before Yakov could even finish his sentence. “You would like to ask me if I have no shame. I can imagine what you must think of me, and of Victor, under these circumstances. But none of this has anything to do with the other. I may be only a teacher, but I will not be insulted by you.”

Yakov looked at Yuuri with a mixture of what could only be described as anger and surprise; his jaw hardening visibly for a moment and Yuuri was sure that Victor’s uncle would yell at him for such impertinence. But Yuuri found that he no longer cared.

“Indeed,” Yakov growled in his usual demeanour. “I do not know what has gotten into Victor. Or you.”

“Fortunately, none of this is any of your business, is it not,” Yuuri said, surprised at his sudden courage. He hated arguing in Russian, for he found it difficult to find the right words when he was angry or upset. But this time, he was neither of those.

There were more important things to worry about than what Yakov thought of him.

“It is not, that is correct,” Yakov muttered, shaking his head. “And frankly spoken, I would be against it and advise both of you to end this…” He gestured broadly at Yuuri, “whatever you might call this. But this is an extraordinary situation.” Yakov clasped his hands behind his back. “I don’t know what Victor sees in you. But it seems that his judgement, as ridiculous as it sometimes is, did not betray him when it comes to you. You are good for him, it seems.”

Yuuri blinked.

There had been many things that Yuuri had heard about Duke Yakov before coming to Russia, and most of the rumours had proven to be true. He was indeed a rather frightening man, his mood fickle and changeable, and he was known for yelling at people he deemed ‘stupid’.

But Yuuri now saw what Victor had told him about. That deep down, Yakov was a man, a father, like many others. A man who only wanted the best for his nephew, who had to carry the heavy burden of the crown.

“So whatever this is that you are having,” Yakov muttered, shaking his head, “it seems to help him. You have my gratitude for that.”

Yuuri straightened his shoulders, feeling as if a heavy weight had been taken off his shoulders with Yakov’s unexpected expression of approval.

“Thank you,” he said softly and bowed respectfully to Yakov. “I only-”

“I don’t want to know,” Yakov interrupted him gruffly. “But the children like you. And you’ve been much loved by Princess Rozalina. That’s all I need to know.”

At the mention of Rozalina, Yuuri’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. It would always be like this from now on, most likely.

It was a pain that they all would have to learn to live with.

“Make sure Victor does not lose his way again,” Yakov said, and then walked away in the opposite direction, without any doubt planning to join the king’s council. Yuuri stayed behind, wordlessly watching the older man leave.

If there only were happier circumstances to being accepted by Yakov.

* * *

 

_My most beloved Guang Hong,_   
_It has been several months since you have been ripped out of my heart. Every day that I am forced to spend without you reminds me of the frailty of happiness. Every moment is precious, and we must treasure everything that is given to us._

The evening prayer had just ended as a young man stood in the courtyard in front of the palace temple grounds. The man, whose name was Guang Hong, watched as the monks and priests emerged from the building, a paper umbrella in his hand, shielding him from the pouring rain. Their heads were covered with the hoods of their white gowns for protection against the weather, and to hide their faces from any unwanted attention - and from any curious bystanders coming their way.

But Guang Hong did not need to see the faces of the monks to know that his beloved was among them, so close to him, and yet so very far, impossible for him to touch.

The monks hurried past him, pulling their hoods deeper over their faces to hide them out of modesty. Guang Hong stepped aside respectfully, watching them walk away towards their quarters that lay hidden away in the farthest corner of the palace, where no outsider would ever be allowed to go. The temples and the monastery were sacred places.

And especially forbidden for someone like him. A mere concubine.

_Therefore, I will devote my life to the gods._

The monk walking at the very end of the group paused in his tracks, and Guang Hong’s heart leapt in sheer joy as he turned around the brown, beautiful eyes of his beloved found his own. A single gust of wind blew the hood off his face, revealing the hair that he had cut short.

For Guang Hong, Leo was still the most beautiful man that had ever been.

He clutched the umbrella tightly for support, and smiled shyly at his beloved.

He could not speak to him, for then he would reveal it all, and endanger them both.

_Only my faith can offer me salvation now. Only in the ever gracious embrace of the gods I will be able to find peace._

Leo swallowed thickly, looking at Guang Hong as if he were about to say something. But he remained silent, as if he were only then remembering who he was, and where.

The realisation of being so close to one another, yet being unable to touch, shattered their hearts anew.

_I will never forget you, my beloved._   
_I will always carry you in my heart._

Guang Hong let out a silent whimper, touching his chest where he kept Leo’s letter, hoping that he understood. That somehow, in their mysterious ways, the gods would make sure that Leo knew. That he loved him still, no matter the cost.

_Please do not forget me, wherever you may be._

Leo then bowed his head and touched his chest in return.

Guang Hong did not stop the tears that had begun to roll down his cheeks, and blurred his vision.

And then, Leo pulled up his hood again to join his brothers, disappearing in the pouring rain, and into a life that he and Guang Hong would never be able to share.

_I love you._

* * *

 

For everyone else, life had to go on.

Perhaps, Yuuri thought to himself at some point, his mother had been right, all those years ago. Perhaps it was good that time never stopped for them. It forced people to keep going despite the pain they felt in their hearts, and healed them in its own pace. Time made it bearable for Yuuri to look at the empty desk at the front of the classroom, fresh flowers ornamenting it every single day. It made it easier for him to get through the day without being greeted by a cheerful little girl, and gave him strength after bursting into tears again, in private, where no one was watching.

Time, as cruel as it was, worked in their favour, even in the midst of their grief.

But grief was a terribly crippling force, and the ways to cope with it differed greatly from person to person.

Yuuri had just collected the homework of the children and was about to close their lesson for the day, as Prince Yuri raised his hand and patiently waited for his teacher to notice him.

“Yes, your highness?” Yuuri looked at him expectantly. “Do you have a question about the homework?”

The prince shook his head and looked at his siblings for a moment that all sat at their little desks expectantly. “I, that means… we were wondering if you had spoken to our father recently,” Yuri said quietly. “We have not seen him for a while and we’ve been not sure if… if he’s okay.”

Yuuri blinked in surprise. He had not thought that the children would worry about their father to such an extent. “Well…” He began, briefly exchanging a glance with Mila who usually sat in the back, but she merely shrugged in confusion, apparently oblivious to it all either. “I have been speaking to your father a few days ago, and he seemed fine to me. He is merely very busy because of the arrival of the Chinese ambassadors.”

“I see.” Yuri looked down at his feet for a moment, and Yuuri wondered if the prince and his siblings had expected a certain kind of answer that he had just failed to provide. But he understood why the children asked. They knew what had happened the first time Victor had been absorbed by his grief, and they missed him terribly. Usually, Victor came to see his children at least every second day, even if he was busy. But he had not come to spend time with them for at least three weeks now, and even Yuuri had begun to worry about him in that respect. But he rarely had the chance to actually speak to him these days, for Victor was occupied with his duties.

Perhaps it was time to lure Victor out of his study, to remind him that there was a family that loved him and cared for him.

“I said to Yuri that we could make a picnic,” Princess Irina said. “Like in the book you read to us.”

“We could make the food ourselves,” Princess Katarina chirped next to her before Yuuri could even react. “Daddy likes cakes with oranges on top of them.”

“And we could show him our new drawings,” one of the princes suggested.

The other children nodded in unison, even the crown prince, and Yuuri realised that the children had given this project a lot of thought. They had already made up their minds, and only wanted his opinion on the matter.

Yuuri couldn’t help but be incredibly touched by the gesture. These children truly loved their father, and he would happily assist them in their plan.

“A picnic sounds wonderful,” Yuuri agreed and the children looked immensely relieved at that. “And the rains have stopped, so we should be able to have the picnic outside, even. I’m sure your father will be very happy if he sees what you have prepared for him.”

“So you will help us, sensei?” Yuri asked hopefully, stepping forward.

“Of course I will,” Yuuri smiled, and the children got up and gathered around him with happy laughs, hugging his legs just the way Rozalina always had. His heart ached at the thought of the little girl, but the love he got from the children was almost overwhelming.

If it had not been for them, Yuuri was sure he wouldn’t have been able to teach in this room anymore. In the room where one of the desks would always remain empty.

* * *

 

And so, the preparations for the picnic began in secret.

There was little that Yuuri had to actually do, for the children and the women were better connected with the servants - the very people that kept the palace running. With their help, they put together a selection of dishes of which they knew that Victor liked them, and decided on decoration and flower arrangements that they wanted to bring along. Yuuri advised them not to overdo it, that sometimes it was better to have things in a simple way, but the children were unstoppable these days. And so, Yuuri could only watch and laugh whilst shaking his head as the children dragged tables and cushions into the garden, more often than not stumbling over their own little feet in their efforts to create the perfect picnic.

Phichit had come to watch the preparations as well, accompanied by Lord Giacometti, who had promised to keep quiet about the children’s surprise. These days, Phichit had begun to assist the king’s advisor with some correspondence, and they were often seen together in the palace. Yuuri knew better than to tease his friend about it, but he was sure that Phichit had taken a liking to the other man, and he suspected that the feelings were mutual.

“Good luck with dragging Victor out of his study,” Christophe said to Yuuri upon coming the sanctuary again to deliver some papers to the classroom. “He’s locking himself away again these days.”

“I know,” Yuuri murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I tried to distract him but…” He shook his head, resting his hands on top of his papers on the desk.

“It has always been like this with him,” Christophe explained quietly, not wanting the children to overhear their conversation. “Mourning comes in different ways to him. At first he might seem heartbroken, then composed, and then he might lose control over his feelings all over again. I have seen it all before. It is heartbreaking.”

“It is,” Yuuri agreed quietly. It was almost impossible to get through to Victor these days. He even refused to continue with their regular Japanese lessons at the moment, claiming that he had too much to do with government affairs. Yuuri had at first been hurt, afraid that Victor did not want to see him anymore. But the amount of flowers that Victor kept sending to him every day, especially on the days when they did not see each other, assured him of Victor’s continuous affection for him.

Victor needed time.

But the children also needed their father.

“I’m sure he will feel better once he has spent some time with his family,” Christophe said eventually and smoothed out his uniform, brushing nonexistent dirt from his trousers. “He might not realise it now, but he needs them just as much as they need him. In that respect, he can be incredibly dense. But don’t tell him I have said that.”

Yuuri smiled lightly. “I won’t,” he assured him and put the papers away as the other man walked away to the exit. “Oh, and Christophe?”

The advisor turned around again, raising an eyebrow.

“Phichit is like a brother to me,” Yuuri said softly. “Please take good care of him.”

Christophe opened his mouth to reply, just as Phichit burst in with an arm full of scrolls. “Found them!”

Christophe smiled and took half of them from his new assistant. “Of course, sensei,” he said with a brief nod into Yuuri’s direction, and then followed Phichit out of the room.

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair, sitting down at his desk with a sigh. At least there was one thing less to worry about.

* * *

 

For Victor, it seemed as if his days had become an endless array of mindless affairs only important to others. As if his only use was to sign whatever his ministers placed on his desk, to nod at everything they said, to grant all of their requests. Every day, he would get up early in the morning, get dressed and immediately move to his study. At his desk, he would have his first cup of tea whilst reading the latest reports. Then, he would call the first ministers in, listen to their reports and requests. Later, he would eat the food his most trusted footman put on the table. Afterwards, he would meet with the council until it was time for lunch. Victor was not particularly hungry these days, but he ate anyway, for he knew that if he did not, Yakov would never let him hear the end of it.

And Yuuri would surely not be happy, either.

The last thing Victor wanted was to worry his beloved, who he saw far too little these days. It was not that Victor did not want to spend time with him. But he feared that he would only be terrible company, that his beloved deserved better than to spend his evenings with a man unable to pull himself out of his grief.

Yuuri deserved so much more.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, hurting his wrist promptly on the golden headwear that his valet had put on him this morning - upon Yakov’s request, urging him to keep up an appropriate appearance despite his grief. Any other day, he would have happily chosen some headwear for himself, perhaps even gotten a new one to show Yuuri, who had admitted of having a thing of seeing Victor in them. But these days, the things he usually enjoyed did not seem to mean much to him.

Rozalina had often picked up his headwear and put it on herself. Of course the crowns had been far too big for her, but she had loved showing herself to him, proudly declaring that she was the queen of the fairies.

Victor rubbed his eyes in exhaustion and rose from his desk, walking out of the council room and down the hall towards his study. His councillors had left him a while ago, but Victor did not find it in himself to focus on the papers that they had left for him.

It was time to eat anyway, even if he was not particularly hungry.

But as he entered the room, he found the small dining table empty, and his servant standing beside it with a tense expression on his face.

“What is going on?” Victor asked in confusion, but his servant only gestured at the window and bowed his head.

His private study was attached to the sanctuary, with large windows facing the gardens. From his spot by the desk, Victor had often watched his family, but these days, this part of the garden was too exposed to the cold wind, and therefore usually abandoned.

Today, however, the sun was shining.

And in the garden, under the large tree, stood several low tables with food.

“What is this?” Victor asked his servant, but the man remained silent. Victor’s expression darkened, for this had never happened before - no one dared to refuse to answer the questions of the king, let alone a servant.

Any other day, he would have sent the man away, to never return.

Victor turned on his heel and went outside to the garden, approaching the few servants that were busy setting the tables.

“What is going on here?” He barked in annoyance. “What is this madness? I take my meals in my study. Bring this back inside at once!”

“Victor?”

Victor turned around at the sound of his name, only then realising that he was not alone. There, in the shadow of the tree and previously hidden from the view of his study, stood his children. Holding each other by their little hands, watching him nervously. Behind them stood their mothers, with Mila among them. It was her voice that had made him turn around. She stepped forward, gesturing at the tables.

“The children were hoping that you would join them for a lunch picnic,” she said softly.

Victor looked over at the children for a moment, at Yuri, Irina, Mikhail, and all the others.

He then turned to Mila again, taking a step towards her. “Do you want them to catch a cold in this weather?” He asked her, lowering his voice. “This is irresponsible of you, Mila. Get them back inside.”

“Victor, it is warm today, and they’re wearing appropriate clothing,” Mila said, reaching out to touch his arm. “It is just a picnic and-”

“Do as I say, Mila!” Victor barked and the woman winced. “And I expect submission!”

The women and children immediately got down to their knees at the king’s outburst, and Victor turned around to the servants. “Get this back inside, now!”

“Victor…” Mila pleaded from her kneeling position on the ground. “They only want-”

“Victor?”

Victor froze on the spot, the voice of his beloved reaching him ever so clearly through the chaos.

Yuuri carefully walked through the crowd of children, not wanting to step on their little fingers. Upon reaching Victor, he helped Mila to stand.

“Victor, they have prepared this picnic for you,” Yuuri said softly, touching Victor by the arm, pulling him the other way as Mila went back to the children and told them to stand so she could usher them back inside.

Victor huffed, avoiding Yuuri’s gaze. “I don’t have time for this now. And besides, it is too cold outside around this time of the year.”

“We both know that-”

“I’m busy, Yuuri,” Victor snapped and walked away from him, heading back inside to his study.

* * *

It took Yuuri a few minutes to console the children, especially Yuri, who had thrown himself angrily onto a sofa. He tried to explain to them that Victor had not meant to bark at them, that none of this was their fault. It truly was not.

But Victor was not himself these days, and that was something that was incredibly hard to explain to a child.

Once Yuuri had made sure the children were in the capable hands of their mothers, he made his way to Victor’s study, entering the room without even glancing at the men guarding the doors. Victor stood impatiently by the table, waiting for the confused servants to bring the meal inside.

“Could you please tell me what this was about just now?” Yuuri asked calmly.

Victor avoided looking at him.

“I told you.”

“We both know that your reasons are fairly ridiculous,” Yuuri said and folded his arms across his chest.

Victor sighed, realising that Yuuri would not rest until he got to talk to him and so, he dismissed the servants with a wave of his hands. The servants exchanged confused looks but did as they were told, quickly leaving the room and carefully closing the doors behind them.

Once they were alone, Yuuri closed the distance between them and took Victor’s hands into his own, bringing them to his lips. And, as expected, Victor melted into his touch. Albeit reluctantly.

“Victor, my love,” Yuuri said quietly. “Please understand that I am worried about you. Your entire family is.”

Victor shook his head. “I’m fine,” he murmured. “There is no need to waste a thought about my wellbeing.”

Yuuri squeezed his hands. “But you know very well that this is something one cannot help,” he said. “Especially not when our worries concern someone that we love.”

“I said that I’m fine,” Victor said, closing his eyes. “I’m… I merely cannot focus these days. I have too much to do anyway.”

“The children miss you so much, Victor,” Yuuri said softly and stood on his toes, wrapping his arms around Victor’s neck. As much as he wanted to - he did not kiss him. “They came to me last week and told me about their idea for the picnic. They were so worried about you that they wanted to give you this surprise.”

“I know that they miss me,” Victor murmured, leaning into the other man’s embrace and resting his forehead against Yuuri’s. “But I don’t feel capable of giving them the attention that they deserve at the moment.”

“They don’t need much, Victor,” Yuuri said softly. “They just want to spend time with you. You don’t have to say much to them. Just be there. Just… show them that you love them by sitting with them.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” Yuuri said and cupped Victor’s cheeks. “They are out there, waiting for you.”

“Yuuri,” Victor gently grasped Yuuri’s wrists, finally meeting his gaze. “I know you only mean well. Believe me, if I could, then I… I would do many things differently these days. But I can’t.”

Yuuri carefully freed himself from Victor’s grasp, brushing his fingers over the back of Victor’s hand.

“I had a grandmother, when I was growing up,” he said quietly. “She was everything to me. And when she died, when I was thirteen… I thought my heart would never heal. But there… there was still the rest of my family. My mother, my father. Mari. Phichit. They forced me to keep going, even if it was painful. And time forced me to keep going, too. Because the good and the most brutal thing about time is that it does not stop for us, no matter how hard we try. It forces us to keep living even if we don’t want it. And you have so many people who love you, Victor. Your wives, your children… and me.” He gently intertwined their fingers, looking down at their joined hands. “Please. Come with me, yes?”

Yuuri gently tugged on Victor’s hand, nodding towards the window and the garden where the children had gathered under the roof of the opposite patio, throwing confused, worried glances towards their father’s study.

“Just be with them,” Yuuri said quietly, squeezing Victor’s hand. “And with me.”

Victor swallowed thickly as he was pulled along towards the garden doors, but did not resist as Yuuri took him outside ever so patiently. Together, they went down the few steps to the garden and down the path towards the women and children. Upon their father’s return, the children immediately dropped to their knees again, afraid of another outburst. Yuuri felt Victor wince at his side, the hand of his beloved cramping painfully in his own.

Victor had not meant to snap at his children - and Yuuri knew that he was incredibly ashamed of his behaviour.

“Please, stand up, my darlings,” Victor said softly. Yuuri let go of his hand, stepping aside.

The children looked up at their father in confusion, not sure how to react. But only as Victor crouched down among them to get to their level, they seemed to realise that he meant it, and they got up to gather around him - albeit reluctantly.

“Katsuki-sensei has explained to me that you wanted to surprise me with a picnic,” Victor said, letting his eyes wander over his sons and daughters. Only then, with Victor amongst them, Yuuri realised how much they all looked like him in their own way, regardless of their mothers. All of them had the unique features of the king, and all of them were much loved by their father.

“We understand if you don’t have time, Father,” Yuri said, looking at his father nervously.

Victor lowered his head, closing his eyes for a moment. “I fear that I do have the time, but not the strength,” he explained. “After everything, it is very… difficult for me to be in this garden. I did not wish to upset you with my inability to be the father you should have these days.”

“But we are sad, too,” Princess Irina chirped and tugged on her father’s sleeve.

“We miss Rozalina too,” Prince Mikhail said from beside Yuri, who was holding the hand of his younger brother.

Victor looked at his sons and daughters for a long moment, and Yuuri watched in awe as the man’s lower lip quivered, wondering for a second if his beloved would burst into tears. But instead, Victor merely swallowed thickly, and said what the children had longed to hear for weeks.

“Come here, my darlings.”

Within seconds, the children had gathered around their father, far too many of them for Victor to hold at once, but he did his best to reach out to every single one of them. He touched their heads, kissed their foreheads, cuddled the ones close that were within arms reach, reassuring every single one of them of his love. Even Yuri, who often claimed to be too old for such gestures of affections, rushed into his father’s arms, hugging him close.

And then, after giving every single child a hug or kiss, Victor allowed them to drag him along to their picnic. He took a seat among them, pulling two little ones into his lap. The children eagerly began to tell him about their picnic preparations whilst the servants brought out the food a second time. Immediately, the children rushed to help them, and Yuuri couldn’t help but smile at Victor’s surprised reaction to that.

Once the food was back on the tables, Yuuri joined the children for their picnic. They had made it very clear that they wanted him to be there as well and so, he had taken a seat amongst the women, exchanging a few words with Mila and the others. But he could barely take his eyes off Victor, who had finally returned to his family.

And the children, his wonderful, incredible children, adored him for it.

Only as the picnic came to an end and it was time for Victor to return to his royal duties, the king called him over. Yuuri excused himself and joined Victor by the steps that led back inside. He could not help but notice the faint colour that had already returned to his cheeks, after such a short time only.

And yet, Victor seemed anxious.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri asked with a frown.

Victor glanced at his children, all of them happily munching away on the palace kitchens’ specialities. “Have I left them alone for too long?” He asked.

Yuuri shook his head. “No. They understand more than you think, you know. They know that you were upset. And why. They would never blame you for being heartbroken.”

Victor lowered his gaze. “I guess I am,” he said. “But so are they.”

Yuuri nodded wordlessly, watching the boys and girls enjoy their picnic. They had all suffered in their own ways, had found their own strategies to cope with the loss of Rozalina.

They all had to find their own ways to heal.

“Will I see you tonight?” Victor asked quietly, reaching out for his hand. “For our lessons?”

It was a question that Victor had not asked him for weeks.

Yuuri took his hand in return, brushing his thumb across its back. “Of course.”

For the first time in weeks, Victor began to smile.

* * *

 

After the picnic, things seemed to become a little more normal again.

Victor was still grieving the loss of his daughter, but it did not cripple him any longer. Instead, the moving gesture of his children had pulled him back to reality, had reminded him that there were things worth living for. At first, the king had been worried that he had left them alone for too long, but his sons and daughters had welcomed him back in their lives with open arms.

Just as they clung to Victor, they also clung to Yuuri like to an anchor, treating him as part of the family. And it was not only the children that did so. The women, not only Mila but all of them, treated Yuuri as if he had always been part of the sanctuary, accepting him in his position as Victor’s most beloved right away.

There was no word for what he was to Victor, and neither Victor nor Yuuri had found it in them to actively search for an answer.

For now, things were acceptable as they were.

A messenger from the west arrived about a week after the picnic, bringing Victor a letter from one of the local barons including possible information about the ongoing attacks. Victor knew the man well and had chosen to travel to the west to speak to the man in person. His children, he said to Yuuri after kissing him senseless and telling him about his plans, would be in the safest hands that he knew of - which had led to Victor covering the blushing Yuuri’s hands in countless kisses.

Once Victor had departed, Yuuri spent his evenings teaching not the king, but the crown prince in Japanese. Yuri benefited greatly from the extra lessons which he accepted without a word of complaint. Victor would not return before ten days had passed, and so, Yuuri tried his best to use the time to help the prince.

But it was always on days and nights like these, when life seemed to quiet, too peaceful, that tragedy struck.

* * *

 

It was a chilly night, and Yuuri was on the way back from his evening lessons with the prince. They had gotten into a heated, deep debate about the shared history of Russia and Japan, and Prince Yuri had proven to be an excellent student of his father. There was little that Yuri did not understand about politics, but undermining the statements by studying the Japanese texts that belonged to the royal collection sharpened the boy’s mind further.

Victor could be proud of his son, Yuuri thought as he entered his apartment just before midnight and closed the door carefully. Phichit and Otabek had already gone to sleep, no smoke rising from the candles anymore.

Yuuri sighed and went to his room, stretching in front of his wardrobe and reaching for his yukata to get ready for bed as a voice reached his ear, the words of it foreign at first, but clearly coming from the window.

Yuuri frowned and made his way over to the window by the bed, opening it quickly. A young boy, barely a day older than fifteen or sixteen, stood under his window between the bushes, holding a lantern in his left hand. Yuuri recognised him as the young servant that had come to the palace together with Guang Hong. He was speaking in rapid Chinese, and Yuuri needed a moment to understand what he was saying.

“My master Guang Hong! Please, come! He needs to see you!” The boy breathed then in broken Russian, pointing into the dark night. “Please, teacher, please come!”

Yuuri frowned. “What is-”

“Please, teacher, please come with me! My master Guang Hong! He need help! My master Guang Hong!”

Yuuri immediately shut the window and rushed out of the room again, down the patio to the impatient boy who grabbed him by the hand. “What’s wrong with Guang Hong?” Yuuri asked again, but the boy had already begun to drag him along, down the dark hallways of the palace, along the servant ways where no guards were waiting, and out of the inner chambers to the outer complex.

Yuuri did not understand, his mind racing, jumping from conclusion to conclusion, but none of it made sense. He then realised that he had not seen Guang Hong for days, weeks even, that the boy had withdrawn himself from any company for a long time.

Terrible thoughts came over Yuuri, and he begged to the gods above that none of them proved to be true.

The boy took him through endless servant hallways, out to the outer complex into the courtyard, beyond the temples of the monks into a more secluded part of the entire palace, where Yuuri had never been before. It was there that the boy let go of his hand and gave him the lantern, pushing him into the narrow alley between two storage buildings.

Yuuri looked at him questioningly, but the boy only shook his head, pointing into the dark alley.

And so, Yuuri went into the darkness, holding the lantern firmly in his hand.

At first, he could not make out a single thing in the dark, the alley appearing empty to his eyes. But then, there was movement, and someone rose from the ground. A man, wearing the traditional white gown of the monks of the temple, the hood pulled over his head. Only as Yuuri came closer, the man pushed the hood back to reveal his face.

The beautiful, brown eyes of Guang Hong looked back at him, filled with outmost melancholy.

“Guang Hong!” Yuuri breathed out, reaching out for the boy and running his hands over his cheeks, over his hair that had once been so beautifully long, and that had now been cut so incredibly short. “Oh my little one,” he swallowed thickly, dropping the lantern, taking his face into his hands. “What have you done?”

Guang Hong sniffed, leaning into his teacher’s touch. “What I did has nothing to do with his majesty, nor do I want to offend, sensei,” he said sadly, his voice husky, as if he had not been speaking for a long time. “The heart of me, a concubine, is nothing in the eyes of the man who is engaged with the affairs of the world.”

Yuuri pulled the boy into his arms, hugging him close, trying to understand the why, the when, and how it could have come to this.

“Why did you not come to me, Guang Hong?” Yuuri asked and shook his head over and over again. “The king would have surely understood, if you had told him how you were feeling.” He pulled back from Guang Hong to look at him again, taking the boys hands. “But you cannot do this to him like this, not now. Not when he has just lost his most beloved child!”

Guang Hong looked at him in outmost despair.

“If love ever left us a choice, sensei, then who would voluntarily choose such cruel pain of the heart?” Guang Hong looked down at their joined hands. “His majesty has to know this, so I beg you to tell him that. If it does not compromise you, that is.”

Yuuri then realised that Guang Hong had made his decision, and that it was a final one. Whatever his reasons were - he would not change his mind. Whatever he had planned to do next, he would follow it through to the end.

And so, Yuuri nodded. “I will tell him everything you want me to tell him, Guang Hong.”

Guang Hong’s eyes began to sparkle, and not only for the tears that had begun to form in them.

“I thank the gods for showing me the way,” Guang Hong whispered, squeezing Yuuri’s hands. “And now that I know that you stand by me, I thank them again, for they have bestowed me a true friend in you, sensei.”

Yuuri opened his mouth to say something, but before the words could come out, the young servant boy had rushed over to them, grabbing Guang Hong by the sleeve, pointing into the dark whilst speaking in rapid Chinese. There were lights, the lights of lanterns, coming closer quickly, shouting the name of the concubine.

Guang Hong’s eyes widened and he began to run, not caring about pulling his hood up anymore. He ran for his life, into the direction Yuuri had come from. The guards pushed Yuuri out of the way, a pair of them holding the Japanese back as he tried to follow them.

“Don’t touch him!” Yuuri screamed, fighting against the grasp of the guards, but they were too strong.

And then, there was a cry, a heart-shattering cry of a pained soul that was captured. As if on cue, the guards let go of Yuuri and he ran after Guang Hong. But he came too late. He lay on the ground, the royal guards surrounding him, keeping him down with their spears.

“Let him go!” Yuuri screamed and pushed his way through.

“Hold the teacher back!” Someone called, a voice that Yuuri immediately recognised, and he spun around.

Georgi stood on top of the stairs leading up to the main part of the palace, the light of the lantern his servant held up illuminating his face.

“Take the concubine away,” Georgi said calmly. “Don’t hurt the teacher.”

Yuuri felt as if ice had been poured over him.

It could not be true.

The guards grabbed Guang Hong and dragged him away together with his servant, the blood running down the boy’s face from a wound caused by the fall. Only as he was out of sight, the guards let go of Yuuri again, who spun around and walked up the steps to Georgi, grabbing Victor’s cousin by the arms.

“What is the meaning of this?!” He barked in despair, the guards already drawing their swords, but Georgi dismissed the action with a wave of his hand.

“It seems that Victor did not tell you,” he said calmly, entirely unfazed by the whole affair. “I am the head of intelligence. After all these terrible attacks, did you not think that we would also investigate within the sanctuary?”

Yuuri stared at him. “No one in the sanctuary would ever even think of harming the king or the children, your highness!”

“Then what did this concubine just do?” Georgi asked, raising an eyebrow and freeing himself from Yuuri’s grasp. “He belongs to my cousin in body and soul, whether he likes it or not. He is his property. But you wouldn’t understand that, of course. Not that I can blame you. You are a foreigner. You don’t know our ways.”

Georgi reached into his robe and pulled out a pipe, lighting it with the flame of the lantern. “There will be a trial, of course,” he said, taking a drag from the pipe. “But I believe that given the treason and its circumstances, the verdict should be fairly obvious.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened at Georgi’s almost casual remark. How could he speak of it so easily, so entirely unfazed, as if none of it were able to move anything in him at all?

“What a shame, I have to admit,” Georgi sighed, looking up at the dark night sky. “To watch the boy lose his pretty head over… whatever it may be that made him so disobedient.”

Yuuri’s knees gave in at that and he sunk to the ground, staring up at Georgi horror. But Victor’s cousin did not look at him a second time as he turned around and walked back to the palace, humming a soft and simple tune, the sound of it harrowing and haunting in the cold winter night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think in the comments! I'll happily reply to them.


	10. Ten

**Ten**

* * *

 

“Hng-- oh… oh my God, right there, Chris, right there-ah!” Phichit threw his head back with a moan as Christophe Giacometti found a very certain spot on his neck, licking, kissing, and sucking on it with the expertise of a man that had welcomed many lovers to his bed over the course of time. Phichit had to admit that at first, this had scared him away, not wanting to become one of many.

But it seemed that over the previous few months, Christophe Giacometti had practised voluntary celibacy for some reason. And according to Yuuri and some very well informed servants, he had taken a liking to a young foreign librarian.

It seemed that Phichit’s patience had paid off.

Chris chuckled and ran his hand down Phichit’s bare torso. “So eager tonight, mein Hübscher?” He hummed, his fingers dancing across the skin right above his groin.

“A-Always when I’m with you,” Phichit breathed, holding onto his lover a little tighter. “C-can you… hng….”

“Yes?” Chris smiled, cupping Phichit’s cheek to get better access to his neck. “What do you want me to do, darling? Have you like this, right now? Or perhaps you would like it again in the bath…?”

Phichit swallowed thickly as the warmth pooled in his lower belly. “As- as you--”

“Christophe! Christophe, wake up!”

Phichit sat up in bed immediately, pulling the duvet up to his chest as he looked at Chris in shock, afraid of getting caught.

“What the actual…?” Chris sat up in bed as well, turning his head towards the door leading to his drawing room. “It’s already past midnight.”

“There is someone calling for you!” Phichit squeaked, gesturing at the door. Chris looked at his lover for a moment, needing a few moments to decide whether it was worth leaving Phichit’s side. Eventually, he pushed his duvet back, throwing it over the confused Phichit beside him to hide him from view and grabbed his dressing gown from the hair by the bed, pulling it over as he went to open the door.

“Christophe!” Yuuri breathed as he fell into the other man’s arms, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Christophe, I need your help! Guang Hong, he-”

“Katsuki-sensei, breathe!” Chris said quickly and rubbed the other man’s arms, pulling him inside. “You’re shaking, sensei!”

“Yuuri?!” At the sound of the other man’s voice, Phichit wrapped his duvet around his waist and hurried out to the drawing room. There, on the sofa by the fireplace, visibly shaken and upset, sat his best friend and brother and was about to hyperventilate.

“Yuuri!” Phichit rushed to his side and grabbed him by the shoulders, not caring that he was seen like this, half naked in the rooms of another man. “Yuuri, look at me, okay?” He said firmly. “Breathe slowly, yes? Focus on that, breathe in and out.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly but did as he was told, leaning forward and focusing on his breathing until the ringing in his ears stopped.

“Sensei, what happened?” Chris asked, sitting down beside him and putting a blanket around his shoulders. “Have you been attacked?”

“G-Guang Hong,” Yuuri breathed out, accepting the glass with alcohol that Phichit had produced from out of nowhere and downing it all at once. “He’s left the sanctuary and joined the monks and was just caught by the intelligence, led by Prince Georgi and-”

“He what?” Chris repeated and his eyes grew wide. “Ji Guang Hong? The Chinese concubine?”

Yuuri nodded shakily. “And they just caught him and I don’t know where they are taking him and I…. I…”

“Oh my God,” Phichit whispered, falling back onto his heels. “Why would… oh my God…”

Chris shook his head, rising from the sofa. “Give me a moment to get dressed, my friend,” he said to Yuuri and squeezed his shoulder. “I will see to this immediately.”

Yuuri nodded faintly and Phichit took Chris’ place beside him on the sofa, putting an arm around Yuuri to comfort him. “I’m sure that everything will be fine,” he said softly. “Chris will sort this out immediately.”

“You didn’t hear what he said, Phichit,” Yuuri whispered, shaking his head. “He said that there will be a trial and that Guang Hong will be beheaded for this.”

“But what did he do, my friend?” Phichit asked in confusion. “You said he joined the monks?”

“He left the sanctuary and therefore Victor.” Chris had returned to the drawing room, dressed in his usual attire. “In Russia, this is considered high treason. A concubine is considered to be the king’s property.”

“In other words, they are slaves,” Phichit said in shock.

Chris nodded bitterly, reaching for the lapel badge that declared him the First Advisor. “This is how it has always been in this country. But that is a question to discuss on another day. Yuuri, do you feel strong enough to come with me?”

Yuuri nodded and slowly stood with Phichit’s help, smoothing out his clothing.

“Phichit, please be so kind and wait here,” Chris said. “In case someone else come looking for me. And don’t worry. No one will bat an eye.”

Phichit nodded, giving Yuuri another hug. “I’m sure it will be fine,” he said once more, kissing Yuuri’s cheeks. “Now go.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, trying his best to believe Phichit and his optimism as he followed Chris out of the room and through the dark hallways of the palace. Never before had he seen the king’s advisor so concerned that he couldn’t even be heard making a joke or comment. No, Lord Giacometti remained entirely silent as they made their way through the palace to the inner chambers. There was light coming from the study that belonged to Prince Georgi, and to Yuuri’s surprise, the guards let them through without even looking at them twice.

Chris pushed the doors open and entered the study, where Prince Georgi stood by his desk and spoke with his father, Duke Yakov. In his hands, he held a letter, and he sighed dramatically at its content.

“At such an unfortunate time,” Georgi said, shaking his head. “But an order is an order.” Only then he acknowledged Yuuri’s and Christophe’s presence. “Ah. Lord Giacometti and the teacher. What can I do for you?”

“I believe you know very well what you can do for us, your highness,” Chris said, closing the door. “What did I just hear? The concubine Ji Guang Hong was arrested?”

“Sadly, yes,” Georgi said, clasping his hands. “I was just telling my father about this.”

“And you have yet to tell me the reason why,” Yakov growled, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at his son expectantly.

“The concubine is accused of high treason, as I said,” Georgi explained ever so patiently. “He withdrew from the sanctuary, and from Victor’s possession, without permission. The investigations are still going on but the evidence is overwhelming, I’m afraid.”

“Victor won’t like this, your highness,” Chris said, visibly trying to stay calm as he stepped forward. “He won’t tolerate this.”

“Oh, I know,” Georgi said with a frown. “Of course he won’t like that he has a disobedient concubine.”

“This is not what he is talking about!” Yakov barked angrily. “You know the principles of the king! The respect and treatment he grants to all that live under his care! Even if the concubine is accused of treason, such actions are unacceptable!”

“I am the head of intelligence!” Georgi barked in return. “It is my duty to make sure the king and his family are safe! We have collected evidence over the course of the previous months!”

“Then you have just gotten the opportunity to tell Victor what you have done in his name!” Yakov shouted and shoved the rest of the letter into Georgi’s hands. “Go now before I forget myself! Ah, my fingers itch!”

Georgi glared at his father as he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. “All I did was fulfilling my duty as the head of intelligence,” he said and reached for the bundle of papers on his desk. “What eventually results of the law is not my doing.”

And with that, he walked out of the room without glancing at Christophe or Yuuri a second time, and closed the door behind himself.

Christophe crossed the distance between himself and Yakov, touching the other man’s shoulder in concern. “Your highness, I do not understand. What is going on here?”

Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. For a long moment, he didn’t say a word, as if he were not sure how to begin.

“Victor has sent Georgi a letter that was delivered just now,” Yakov explained eventually. “He will travel to the West now to meet Victor there. And to explain this madness.”

“Your highness,” Yuuri said worriedly, stepping forward as well. “Please, there must be a misunderstanding regarding Guang Hong. He-”

“I’m afraid that the law is not on the boy’s side, Katsuki-sensei,” Yakov said, and for the first time, he sounded sympathetic. “He has broken the law and must suffer the consequences.”

“But…” Yuuri couldn’t believe how the others could stay so calm when there was a boy in need, who was imprisoned for merely wanting to be free.

“I know,” Yakov said calmly. “But I’m afraid that there is nothing that I can do without Victor’s oral or written consent. A trial, however, is inevitable.”

Yuuri slowly sat down on the empty chair by the fireplace and buried his face in his hands.

“Yuuri,” Chris said quietly, crouching down beside him and touching his shoulder. “Do you know why Guang Hong did this? Was he so incredibly unhappy or simply not aware of the consequences?”

“Why would he join the monks anyway?” Yakov asked and took a seat on the other chair, clasping his hands in thought. “This does not make sense at all. He was not described as particularly religious by his family when he was sent to the palace.”

“And even if he had become religious over time,” Yuuri murmured, rubbing his face. “Why join the temple communities within the palace? Where anyone could easily find him, or recognise him?”

“I guess that the evidence presented at the trial will tell us more,” Yakov concluded. “There is nothing we can do at this point, I’m afraid, but wait for the beginning of the trial. Which will be in two days, I assume. Following the protocol reserved for traitors.”

Yuuri vehemently shook his head. “Guang Hong is not a traitor,” he whispered.

Guang Hong could not be a traitor.

Not the shy boy that could not even harm a fly.

Not the young man that had called Yuuri his friend.

* * *

 

As Yuuri saw himself unable to teach, he had a message sent to Lady Mila to inform her that there wouldn’t be classes for the children until further notice.

Mila was Victor’s favourite wife for a reason, for she was intelligent and sharp-minded, able to sense it whenever something was wrong. She had noticed Guang Hong’s absence immediately, and upon receiving Yuuri’s note, she came to see him at once.

Unfortunately, she was not able to help him much, but she, just like Christophe and Yakov, was able to explain to Yuuri what would come next.

“We are a constitutional monarchy, sensei,” she explained to the distressed Yuuri who could barely sit still. “That means everyone, regardless of rank, has the right to a fair trial. But I’m afraid that our courts are incredibly strict. Especially the Royal Court of Justice is infamous for its… rigorous decisions. They are loyal to the throne, and that means that they will do everything in their power to make sure that no one dares to threaten the crown. They won’t hesitate to try to set a warning through Guang Hong.”

Yuuri ran a shaking hand through his hair. It was greasy, for he had not been calm enough to bother to take a bath, but he couldn’t have cared less about his appearance in this moment.

“Guang Hong is only a boy,” Yuuri murmured. “He is but a child.”

“That won’t matter to the court, I’m afraid,” Mila said softly, watching Yuuri pace the room, ever so restless.

“And you have not noticed anything odd about him, Lady Mila?” Yuuri asked for what had to be the fiftieth time, at least.

Mila shook her head. “No, nothing,” she said ever so patiently.

Yuuri sighed, closing his eyes in despair.

“They will allow you to watch the trial, as you’re an official member of the court,” Mila said in an attempt to calm him down at least a little. “And no matter what happens - no verdict is valid without the signature of the king. No matter what they decide, Victor will have to approve of it.”

Yuuri nodded absentmindedly, chewing on his thumb. “He needs to come back quickly,” he murmured. “But I don’t trust Prince Georgi. What if he tells him something else or-”

“I don’t like him either,” Mila admitted. “But Prince Georgi is his cousin. They grew up together. Victor trusts him. He will believe anything he says. Unfortunately.”

Then it was hopeless.

If Victor signed any verdict sent to him, based on the words of Georgi, trusting the man’s judgement - then there was very little hope.

If there even was any.

Mila rose from her seat and made her way over to the young teacher, putting her arm around his shoulders. “We must not lose hope, sensei,” she said softly. “Whatever might happen during the trial, or after, I’m sure that we will find a way to help Guang Hong. I know the situation seems hopeless now, but we will pray to the gods to keep him safe. We all will. The royal family stands with Guang Hong.”

“I wish I could go and see him,” Yuuri whispered, shaking his head as the tears threatened to fall. “But the guards won’t let me through. If I could only talk to him, if I could only learn from him why he did this, perhaps I could help him then…”

Mila squeezed his shoulders gently. “I’m afraid this is nothing I can help you with. And neither can Duke Yakov or Lord Giacometti.”

“I know,” Yuuri sighed.

The case of Guang Hong was as mysterious as it was heartbreaking. Why would a young boy like him risk his life like that, join a religious order, right under the nose of the man he was trying to run from?

If love ever left us a choice, sensei, then who would voluntarily choose such cruel pain of the heart?

Yuuri did not understand what Guang Hong had meant by that - only that Guang Hong’s actions had most likely been motivated by love.

But love for whom?

Yuuri was sure that there was an important detail that he had missed, no matter how many things he thought about everything he knew about Guang Hong.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

“Sensei?” Christophe Giacometti entered the room after a moment, holding a note in his hands. “Oh my. You have not been sleeping, have you?”

“How could I.” Yuuri shook his head before giving him his full attention. “What can I do for you?”

Chris closed the door and approached Yuuri and Mila. “I received this from the Royal Court of Justice today,” he said, showing them the note. “The trial will be held in four days, at precisely one o’clock. One of the judges has been bedridden these days, hence the unusual delay.”

Yuuri pulled the note out of Christophe’s hand and read it a few times.

“Any news from Victor?” Mila asked softly, clasping her hands.

Chris shook his head sullenly. “Not yet. But I think he should return very soon, perhaps even in time for the trial. We have to hope for the best.”

The best, however, was most likely not enough, Yuuri thought as he looked up from the note.

Victor had to return quickly.

For if he did not, Yuuri would have to fear for Guang Hong’s life.

* * *

 

Yuuri did not know how he managed to sleep the following nights up to the day of the trial, but he suspected that it had to do something with the tea that Phichit had poured him every night. With the help of his friend, he bathed and got dressed, and even managed to eat a few bites before meeting with Christophe in the main courtyard of the palace. From there, they would take a carriage to the Royal Court of Justice that was located a few streets away from the palace complex. Yuuri did not speak as he got into the vehicle, too anxious to even acknowledge his surroundings properly.

On the way through the city, however, he noticed that the atmosphere in the capital had changed. It seemed that the people had heard the news that a concubine of the king was accused of treason - and being ordinary human beings with ordinary lives, they welcomed the trial as a fortunate distraction they could gossip about.

Yuuri barely looked up as he left the carriage and walked up the stairs to the court with Chris and Phichit. He was aware of the looks people were giving him, the strange foreigner, but he could not have cared less about that right now. Still no word from Victor after almost a week, and that was something that unsettled all of them greatly.

“We should go into the courtroom,” Chris said and led them to the large set of doors and to the back row to the left side of the judges. These seats, Yuuri noticed, were reserved for high members of the court as they gave an excellent view of the entire room. The other people sitting there, all of them councillors of the king, eyed them suspiciously, but nodded in greeting as they sat down.

Yuuri had never felt so sick before.

Phichit took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

And then, once the audience had taken their seats and the judges had sorted themselves out, the spokesman by the door called for their attention.

“Bring in the defendant!”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, his heart skipping a beat as the doors were opened once more.

The King’s Guard entered the room, four of them in total. Two of them kept a third person in their firm grasp, dressed in rags and hands and feet chained, dried blood covering arms and ankles.

Guang Hong.

Yuuri let out a shocked whimper, but loud enough, apparently, to reach the boy’s ears. Guang Hong looked up, his eyes frantically searching the crowd as he was dragged down to a pedestal in front of the judges. Upon finding Yuuri’s face amongst the audience, he gasped. “S-sensei… ah!”

The guards had forced him down onto the pedestal with his head pressed to the ground.

Yuuri clutched Phichit’s hand tightly.

The judge in the middle cleared his throat, calling the audience to quiet down.

“Ji Guang Hong,” he said coldly, clasping his hands on top of a stack of papers. “You have been brought before this court under the accusation of high treason against The Divine, King Victor. Father of Russia, Protector of the Realm, Messenger of the Gods. It was your intention to plan his humiliation, and to subvert his divine authority! How do you plead?”

Guang Hong shook his head. “I’m not guilty of this crime,” he said quietly. “I’m not guilty, honourable judges, I’m not. I never wanted to humiliate or subvert his majesty, no.”

The judge snorted in disbelief and called for the spokesman again, upon whose call the doors opened again and a second person was brought into the room.

Guang Hong spun around on the pedestal A man with dirty, brown hair and a face covered in countless cuts and scratches was carried into the room on a wooden board, his hands tied up right before his face. Guang Hong whimpered at his side, reaching out for him but the guards held him back.

“Guang Hong…” Leo breathed, gasping as he was kicked into the chest by a guard to shut him up.

“That is the monk you were corresponding with!” The head judge declared. “The monk in whose chambers we found your letters! Written in Japanese, to conceal its wanton content!”

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat as the judge raised his hand, in it a bundle of letters, the paper of it the very same they used in the sanctuary.

It was only then that Yuuri realised who had been the actual recipient of Guang Hong’s letters, of which he had always thought they were meant for the boy’s family. They had all been addressed to the man that lay beaten up before them, an exchange of what Yuuri assumed were nothing but deepest declarations of love.

The letters had been the missing piece.

Love letters, exchanged in secret between Guang Hong and his lover.

“No!” Guang Hong cried out and turned around on the narrow pedestal, his eyes frantically searching the room for someone before eventually settling on Yuuri in sheer desperation.

“He wrote to me in order to say goodbye!” The boy called to him in Chinese, his eyes full of pain and fear. “Because he thought to have lost me to the palace for good! It was only that, only ever that, sensei!”

“You will speak in Russian to this court!” The judge barked as everyone in the room turned their heads to look at Yuuri, who had leant forward as much as he could, nodding vehemently to reassure Guang Hong that he understood. “You wrote to him and convinced him to get you the holiest of robes, to hide you, so you could taint the holiest of places known to man!”

Guang Hong shook his head over and over again, looking at Yuuri as tears streamed down his pretty face. If Phichit had not been next to him, holding him back, Yuuri would have gone down there, and shielded the boy with his own body. But he was powerless.

Never before had it been so clear to Yuuri that he was nothing but a teacher. A scholar, a man with no power at all, whose word counted so incredibly little.

“Honourable judges, believe me,” Guang Hong breathed between sobs. “It was _I_ who disguised myself!” He pressed his bloody hands against his chest, right above his heart. “Leo had nothing to do with it! I cut my hair and abandoned my old self to be with him! When I realised he would not recognise me I became one of his brothers so that I could be at least near him!” He shuffled forward on his abused knees, raising his hands almost like in prayer. “I beg you to believe me, judges!” He cried out, the sound of it sending ice cold shivers down Yuuri’s spine.

Never before had he witnessed a soul in such desperation.

The judge’s eyes were without mercy.

“You put on this robe,” the judge spat, raising the white cloth next to him as proof. “You pretended to be one of the holiest among people - and you climbed into his bed like a common whore! You were impure when you came to the palace, and you tainted the sanctuary of his majesty with your depravity!”

Guang Hong froze on the pedestal, his eyes narrowing at the judge’s accusation - the most insulting accusation that could be made towards any person living within the sanctuary. “That is an outrageous lie!” He shouted, and Yuuri couldn’t remember ever having seen the boy in such a state. He glared at the judge with the eyes of a soldier, ready to fight for what he believed in. “I have been pure when I was given to the king!”

The judge huffed, dismissing the statement with a wave of his hand. But Guang Hong was not done yet.

“And I condemn _you_!” Guang Hong shrieked as the court gasped in shock upon him raising his voice, and the boy lifted his hand and pointing accusingly at the judges, who could not believe their ears at the protest of the accused. “For your wanton thoughts, and the cruelty in your hearts!”

Yuuri felt Phichit clutch his hand tightly, as if his friend had been able to foresee what would happen next.

The judge looked down at Guang Hong in utter disgust, as if he were an insect to be crushed under his feet. “Castigate him!”

The guards that had dragged Guang Hong in stepped forward and grabbed him by the arms, forcing him down on the floor as they began to beat him mercilessly.

“Don’t!” Christophe had pressed his hand over Yuuri’s mouth just a second before the man could cry out in protest. “You will only make it worse for him!”

Yuuri wept silent tears as Guang Hong was beaten by the guards, the boy screaming in pain with every blow.

After what seemed like an eternity, the judge raised his hand and the guards let go of Guang Hong. The blood streamed down his pale back and he gasped for air, barely able to keep himself from fainting.

“A great honour was bestowed on you when you were sent to his majesty as a concubine!” The judge barked. “An honour many others would happily die for!”

“His majesty does not need me!” Guang Hong cried as he shook his head. Despite being beaten almost into unconsciousness, he managed to raise his head and face the judges. “Who am I to him, if only one of many! But I…” He coughed, slowly turning his head towards Leo, and the faintest of smiles spread over his tormented face. “But I need Leo as much as I need air to breathe.”

Murmurs and whispers filled the courtroom as the people began to debate amongst themselves behind raised hands. Only the sound of a faint voice coming from below them shut them up again, albeit none of them except Yuuri and Guang Hong were able to understand a thing - for Leo de la Iglesia’s words were in Chinese, accentuated, yet clear.

“If death is what awaits us for the sin of loving one another,” Leo whispered, his eyes closed in exhaustion. “Then I will gladly go to my death with you, my love.”

“Silence!” The judge shouted as he slammed his fist onto the table over and over again, “Take the monk back to his cell! Ji Guang Hong, face your judges!”

But Guang Hong did not listen to him. He kept his eyes fixed on his lover as Leo was carried away from him again, his lips moving as he whispered confession after confession.

“JI GUANG HONG!” The judge yelled. “You will be taken to the palace dungeons to await your sentence!” The guards stepped forward and grabbed Guang Hong by the arms, pulling him to his feet to take him away.

“Guang Hong!” Yuuri breathed and finally rose from his seat and tried to reach the ground level of the courtroom, pushing his way through the sheer mass of people, but it was of no use. They had taken Guang Hong away before Yuuri could reach him to talk to him, and the people in the audience eyed him cautiously, blocking the way.

“Yuuri.” Christophe had appeared at his side with Phichit, carefully pulling him to his side. His presence was enough to part the crowd, allowing them to get to the exit.

“Chris, I beg you, you have to do something!” Yuuri pleaded. “Guang Hong is only a boy, he-”

“As much as I would like to intervene, sensei, this lies beyond my influence,” Lord Giacometti said firmly and grabbed Yuuri by the shoulders. “The only person who can avert a death sentence now is the king himself.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly. Just then, one of Christophe’s men approached them discreetly and slipped a note into Chris’ hands. Chris read it quickly. “Victor is back,” he said quietly. “He came back merely minutes after we left the palace, it seems.”

Yuuri got up. “I must speak to him.”

“He won’t receive you, Yuuri, he cannot-”

“I must speak to him!” Yuuri shouted freed himself from his grasp. “I will speak to the king and tell him to stop this madness!” And with that, he rushed out of the building, running as fast as he could back towards the carriages. The people he encountered on the way looked at him as if he were a piece of garbage, openly scowling at him, for they all knew that he, the teacher of the king’s children, was close to the man that had betrayed their sovereign.

Or so they thought.

* * *

 

The doors to the king’s study were closed, and an unholy silence had fallen over the palace as Yuuri walked down the long corridor. It seemed that every courtier had left the palace that day to watch the trial, or to at least catch a glimpse of the accused, who were being taken through the city in wooden carriages like cattle, exposed to laughter and humiliation. Yuuri did not even want to think of what Guang Hong and his beloved were going through. Their fate had to be averted, the trial had to be stopped, and there was only one person in the realm with the power to save them.

The guards in front of Victor’s study let him through without question and he entered the study, ready to face Victor.

The king sat at his desk, his face expressionless as he looked down at a stack of papers. Next to him stoof Prince Georgi, talking to him emphatically. Upon Yuuri’s entrance, both of them looked up. Their reactions could not have been more different. Where Georgi openly showed his disapproval of his presence, Victor’s face spoke of absolutely nothing.

“What do you want here, Katsuki?” Georgi asked stiffly. “His majesty is busy.”

“I am here to speak on behalf of Guang Hong,” Yuuri replied, trying to sound braver than he felt.

“I believe this is none of your concern, Katsuki,” Georgi huffed and raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but Victor shook his head.

“Let him be,” he said to his cousin, resting his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands as he looked down onto the stack of papers.

“Vic- your majesty.” Yuuri approached his beloved, choosing to address him by his title on purpose. This was not an affair between the two of them, but a matter of highest concern that only the king, the Divine, could avert. “I beg you to help Guang Hong. He has not done anything against you, or the realm.”

“Ludicrous!” Georgi snapped. “Everything we need to know is right here, in front of us! To leave without permission, to run from the one that owns him, to taint the holiest of places-”

“He has done no such thing!” Yuuri exclaimed angrily.

“There is proof!”

“Georgi,” Victor said quietly, but loud enough for them to hear. “Leave us.”

Georgi glared at Yuuri as he straightened his shoulders and walked out of the room, holding his head high in pride.

The moment the door was shut behind him, Victor buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply.

Yuuri walked around his desk and sank to his knees beside Victor, reaching up to touch his thigh. “I beg you, Victor, please don’t-”

“This is not as easy as it seems.” Victor pressed out from between gritted teeth.

Yuuri frowned. “But you are the king,” he said. “What you say will be done. If you choose to avert any verdict then-”

“His death sentence is right here, I just need to sign it!” Victor grabbed the paper from his desk and waved around with it in front of Yuuri’s face before he let it fall again, burying his face in his hands. “They sent it to me just now, right after the trial! All I need to do is to sign this thing, so that they can proclaim it by dawn!”

A cold shiver ran down Yuuri’s spine as he realised the extent of the judges’ verdict on Guang Hong. For them, he was guilty of high treason, and for that, there was only one form of punishment.

Yuuri shuffled forward on his knees. “If you sign this, you will murder a boy whose only crime was to love another,” he said emphatically. “I beseech you. Do not sign it. Do not bring so much sadness over this place and yourself.”

“I said that this is not as easy as it seems to you,” Victor said, finally turning his head to look at him. In his eyes there was very little of the man that Yuuri loved. Instead, there was conflict, and deepest despair. “Guang Hong has broken the law. Breaking that law is high treason. The punishment for high treason is a public execution.”

It was not the words themselves that shook Yuuri to the core, but the finality that lay in them. As if Victor had already decided over Guang Hong’s fate, as if a consummation of the verdict was inevitable.

“Victor,” Yuuri whispered, swallowing thickly. “One word from you, and none of this will happen!”

“I know that!” Victor snapped and rose from his desk, walking away towards the window. Yuuri only then noticed that his beloved was shaking. “But you spoke up at the trial, right? You said you would talk to me, beg me to change the verdict. And everyone heard you!”

Yuuri stared at him. “I don’t understand why that-”

“Because of that I can no longer react the way I planned to!” Victor shouted, finally turning around to face him. “They will think I’m nothing but a puppet on a string! They will think that I listen to you, the one they only call ‘the foreigner’, that you whisper into my ear and dictate my every move!”

The realisation washed over Yuuri like ice.

“If I don’t sign this verdict, I will lose my authority,” Victor muttered, clasping his hands on his back.

Yuuri was back on his feet in an instant. He did not even notice that his hands were shaking in fear, and in horror of Victor’s words. So coldly spoken, with such finality.

“You can’t do this,” Yuuri said, his voice cracking the moment he opened his mouth. “Victor, you can’t do this!”

“I must!” Victor snapped back angrily. “I must whether I want it or not!”

“So it is my fault if he dies?!” Yuuri shouted. “Because I dared to speak up?!”

“Yes!”

They looked at each other as if they were strangers, as if the love and passion that they had shared had never been. It was as if the love had been taken out of their hearts, only to be crushed by reality and its brutality, the final proof that their love had blossomed at a place where it had never been meant to thrive.

The heart in Yuuri’s chest did not ache at this realisation.

For now, it had frozen, shielding itself in ice.

“Then there is nothing left to say between us,” Yuuri said quietly.

Victor closed his eyes.

He did not hear the door click shut.


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, believe me, this was super hard to write.

**Eleven**

* * *

 

In the early hours of dawn, a king and a teacher went to pray.

The king chose the quiet sanctuary of the temples, isolation, and the holy ground for his plea. He had spent countless hours at places like this before, losing himself in the holy scriptures and the prayers, begging the gods to hear him.

In the end, some prayers had been answered, whilst others had not. The gods had not given him his wife back, had not freed him from the crippling sadness in his heart and soul. They had given him reason, however, and the clarity to reflect on his life, and on its purpose. Life, he thought, would have been easier if he had been born an ordinary man, with an ordinary life, an ordinary occupation. But the gods had made him a king, and he had to act and live accordingly. Whether he wanted it or not.

On days like these, he was reminded of his divine calling more than ever before. It was not a life he would have chosen for himself, for he found himself too much in favour for earthly pleasures, and unable to make a distinction between his two personas. But he had had no siblings that could have inherited his father’s throne in his stead. So he had accepted his calling, and tried to hide the person that he was in favour of the person the world expected to see.

There were a selected few that could look behind the facade, that knew who he truly was. Friends, family, lovers. Galina had known his heart like no one else, and he had opened up again after her death, to someone that now probably despised him.

The teacher chose the solitude of his bedroom for his prayer, kneeling before the small altar he had sat up after his first arrival. He was not particularly religious, but he found that in times like these, faith gave him strength, even if only a little bit. Perhaps, the teacher thought to himself, there was one particular god that would hear his prayer. For in the faith of his ancestors, there was a god for everything, a god in every living, breathing thing.

Never he would have thought that he would one day pray for the help of a god to protect and guide two souls, whose only crime was to be in love with one another. Two souls, who had been unfortunate enough to be born into a system that did not allow for their love to thrive.

Both the king and the teacher prayed for forgiveness that morning, both of them following the rise of the sun with their whispered words.

With dawn, the sentence would be carried out, and there was nothing either of them could do to change the course of things.

Yuuri opened his eyes as the light of dawn had begun to warm his face.

And with it, the drums in the distance were silenced, the traitors executed.

The king took a deep breath as he bowed before his gods in humility.

The teacher cried, his faith lost, and his heart broken.

Outside the window, a young boy covered his ears to silence the cheers of the celebrating crowd.

* * *

 

It was late in the evening when Yuuri lifted his head from the scriptures, his head hurting from crying, studying, and exhaustion. And yet, he found himself unable to sleep, regardless of the herbs that Phichit, his ever loyal companion, had slipped into his tea to soothe his nerves. Phichit himself had chosen to keep him company for as long as necessary, but he had drifted off to sleep on the sofa by the fireplace a while ago, snoring away with a book covering his face. By his feet, Otabek slept as well. Yuuri was not sure how much the boy knew of the previous events, but he was certain that Otabek was aware that something terrible had taken place.

Even if he did not know that two lives had been taken for the sake of a king’s authority and honour, he chose to comfort the one that had been made responsible with his presence.

Guang Hong had been but a child.

Not a traitor.

Only a child.

Yuuri rose from the desk and walked over to the table where they kept a jug of water, pouring himself a cup to stay hydrated, at least, if sleep would not come to him.

He had known that in Russia, things worked differently. It was to be expected, of course, that a foreign country with foreign laws would have different customs, and that there would be some he would find hard to accept. Never would Yuuri have thought to come across something he would not be able to live with. Oh, he was aware of some of the strange laws that Russia had, and he did not approve of the way the children had to kneel before their father as if he were anything but that. But never once had he interfered with the way things were at the palace. He had accepted them for the time being.

What he could not accept, however, was what had to be done in order to save a king’s authority. And at what cost.

Yuuri closed his eyes with a sigh. He had cried the entire morning, and throughout noon, and found himself empty of any more tears. There was a saying, he remembered, that if one cried too much, one could dry out, and perhaps that was now the case with him. Crying had not brought him any sort of relief, had not mended his broken heart, had not given him any answers.

It had only made him incredibly tired. And yet, he found himself unable to sleep.

A gentle yawn told him that Phichit had woken from his slumber. He turned his head, watching his friend pulling the book off his face with a groan before sitting up.

“You’re still up…?” Phichit yawned and looked Yuuri up and down, taking in his poor appearance. “Perhaps I could get you some more herbs to send you to dreamy wonderland-”

A knock on the door interrupted his sleepy speech, and Phichit dragged himself off the sofa with a sigh. “Good lord, a visitor at this hour… wouldn’t happen in Japan, that’s for sure…”

Yuuri watched his friend disappear through the door to their parlour before refilling his cup a second time. There had been people knocking on their door all day long, from servants over messengers to officials like Lord Giacometti, who had wished to see Phichit, and to inquire how Yuuri was doing.

There had been no word from Victor.

He had managed to save his face, by not following the ‘foreigner’s’ plea.

Yuuri hoped that he would be happy with his so-called authority, if it meant so much to him. If it meant more than a life.

“Y-Yuuri?”

Yuuri turned his head towards the open door from where Phichit’s voice had come. “Phichit?” He put the glass down and followed his friend to the dark parlour, the lack of light soothing to his eyes. “What’s wrong? Who is it?”

He grabbed a candle from the table and entered the parlour, making his way towards the door, where Phichit stood, staring at whoever had come to visit them so late at night. Yuuri frowned, moving closer as suddenly-

“Sensei!”

Yuuri’s eyes widened as no other than Ji Guang Hong threw himself into his arms, causing him to drop the candle, which went out on the spot.

“G-Guang Hong…?” Yuuri breathed, immediately wrapping his arms around the boy as they both began to cry. The gods must have sent him a dream to comfort him, he thought as he held him tightly, but it felt so real. So incredibly real. Could it be?

“Guang Hong, you…?”

“Not just me, sensei,” Guang Hong sobbed in Chinese, pulling away and grasping Yuuri’s hands. Only then he was able to look at the boy properly, able to take in his simple clothing and the shawl around his head against the cold. “But Leo, too. All thanks to you, sensei. All thanks to you!”

Only then it hit Yuuri that this was not a dream but reality, that Guang Hong was truly there, alive and well.

“L-Leo?” Yuuri stammered in confusion, but Guang Hong already pointed at the man standing beside Phichit in the doorframe. Just like Guang Hong, he was wearing the clothes of a commoner, proper shoes at his feet, and a shawl around his head to hide his face.

“How…?” To more Yuuri was not capable in this moment, as he held the hands of the boy that he had believed to be dead since dawn.

“We were taken back to the dungeons and waited for the sentence,” Guang Hong explained between sniffs. “Suddenly, just before dawn, there were men coming to our cells, and we were sure that they had been sent to kill us. They had swords, sensei, and I was sure that our end had come. But then they told us to take off our clothes, and put on these instead. Then, they left with our clothes and as dawn came, we saw two men with sacks over their heads, in our clothing, being taken past our cells. We waited for the entire day, sensei, fearing for our lives and praying, when the men from dawn returned just after nightfall.” Guang Hong looked over at Leo. “They took us to the king, sensei. We threw ourselves to his feet, but he… he told us to stand. And then he said: You are lucky, Guang Hong, that you have a friend in your teacher, for he has saved your life. And the one of your lover, too. And then he ordered us to leave Russia. To never return and live a life far away from him. But he allowed me to see you one more time, sensei.”

Guang Hong let go of Yuuri’s hands and knelt down instead. “And I shall use this last time that I see you to thank you, for you have saved my life, and the one of my love.”

“Guang Hong…” Yuuri dropped to his feet and pulled the boy into his arms once more, holding him tighter than ever before. Perhaps it was a sign that the gods had listened to him, perhaps it had been sheer luck only, but none of this did matter. Guang Hong and Leo were alive.

“Criminals have been executed in our stead,” Guang Hong breathed. “Our lives were spared, thanks to you. No matter where we go, we will never forget what you have done for us, sensei. For you have power, power over a king, even.”

Yuuri pulled away to look at the boy’s face, wiping away his tears with his thumbs. “Where will you go now, Guang Hong?” he asked quietly. “To your family?”

Guang Hong shook his head. “His majesty was full of kindness and did not tell them about my shame. He sent them a letter, telling them that I had died of a fever. It is a kind lie that will bring pain to my mother nonetheless, but it will spare her of the disgrace.”

With Victor telling them to leave Russia, and no chance of settling down in China, Yuuri knew that the two had very limited options for their future. The countries surrounding Russia would not treat them too kindly, especially if they came like this, with nothing but their clothes on their bodies and no money, no friends or family.

Perhaps there was something he could do.

“Wait here, my friend,” Yuuri said quickly and pulled Guang Hong to his feet. “I know you must leave soon, but give me five minutes.”

“Y-yes, sensei,” Guang Hong promised, watching in confusion as Yuuri hurried back into the apartment and to his desk. Yuuri opened several drawers, pulling out things he had not used in months: stationery, ink, Japanese paper, the stamp of his family name. A small pouch filled with coins.

A few minutes later, he had composed two letters, signing them both carefully and adding the stamp of his family. Yuuri had never been one of those that proudly took advantage of their family name, or of their family’s reputation. But this time, he could actually use it for something good.

With the letters and the pouch of coins in his hands, he returned to Guang Hong, Leo, and Phichit, the latter trying to communicate in some way with them, but Phichit’s Russian was far from conversational.

“Take these,” Yuuri said and placed the money in Guang Hong’s hands. The boy’s eyes widened and he began to protest, but Yuuri shook his head. “You need it more than I do. It should be more than enough to get you food, accommodation, and two tickets to a ship to Japan. Once you get there, find a carriage. Show them this.” He presented the first letter to Guang Hong. “This shows that you are travelling under the protection and invitation of the Katsuki family. Take a carriage to Kyoto. Once you’re there, go to the trade guild. It is in the centre of Kyoto, near Gion. Show them this.” He showed Guang Hong the second letter. “Tell them that you know me, and that you demand to speak to the husband of Mari Katsuki. She is my sister. If they turn you away, don’t lose hope. I will send a letter to my sister, her husband, and to my parents. I will inform them about your arrival, and should the guild turn you away, head straight to this address. If they don’t believe you because of the way you’re dressed, say you’re a servant delivering something, and they’ll take you to the back of the house. Our housekeeper is a man called Sato. Tell him your story. He will know that you’re coming. My family will keep you safe, Guang Hong, both of you. I promise.”

Guang Hong stared at the letters and the money for a long moment, his eyes filling up with tears. Leo stepped forward, taking his arm.

“Thank you, sensei,” he said quietly, bowing his head. “We will never be able to repay you.”

“You will repay me by sending me a letter that you’ve arrived safely at my parents’ or my sister’s house,” Yuuri said and pulled them both into his arms. “May the gods bless you and protect you on your way, my friends,” he whispered.

“May the gods bless you, for you have saved us,” Guang Hong whispered as Leo put the letters and the money away. “I will pray that our paths may cross again.”

“If the gods want it, it will happen,” Yuuri said and squeezed his hands. “Now go. You must be out of the city before dawn.”

Guang Hong nodded and took Leo’s hand into his own. “Farewell, sensei,” he said softly. “I will never forget you.”

And with that, the lovers disappeared into the night, with only the stars to guide them and the gods to protect them on their way.

Phichit was quiet as they went back to their room. It was needless to speak for either of them, for they both knew what the other would have liked to say. But they were too tired, too exhausted, for even a single word to come over their lips.

Phichit caught Yuuri in his arms as his friend broke down, overwhelmed by shock and relief, and he rocked him back and forth as finally, tears of anger and betrayal began to flow.

The young Thai knew Yuuri well enough to know when his heart was broken, and when it was beyond mending. What Victor had done to him, some of it even unwillingly by merely being king, by following the ways and traditions that made up Russia, had hurt Yuuri beyond imagination. In this moment, it was an easy thing for Phichit to hate him, to hate the man that had hurt his brother. Who had toyed with his feelings, had made him believe he mattered to him, only to cast him away for the sake of keeping up appearances.

Once Yuuri had fallen asleep, Phichit put a blanket over him to keep him warm, and then sat down at his own desk, pulling out his very best paper, and began to draw up a letter.

* * *

 

It was about a month later, thanks to the unholy sum that Phichit Chulanont had paid a messenger, that Yuuri Katsuki received a letter of the finest quality, the paper so delicate that even at the first glance Yuuri knew where it was coming from.

The month following Guang Hong’s and Leo’s departure had been a silent one between the king and the teacher. Once Yuuri had recovered enough from everything, he had gone to see him. To thank him.

Victor had barely been able to look him in the eye.

Yuuri turned the letter in his hands, afraid to open it as he thought back to his last conversation with Victor.

He had been taken to Victor’s study by a servant, just as Prince Georgi had walked out of the room. Georgi, apparently not knowing that two ordinary criminals had been executed instead of Guang Hong and Leo, had merely smiled coldly at him before leaving.

Yuuri seldomly hated in his life, but Prince Georgi had moved to the top of his short list.

Victor had looked up from his work, and Yuuri had thought to see him wince at his sight. As if he had not expected Yuuri to come to him.

“I know that you’ve saved Guang Hong and his lover,” Yuuri had said, finding it surprisingly easy to speak to him. “Thank you.”

Victor had clasped his hands on top of his papers, looking anywhere but at him. “If you thought that I would send them to the scaffold, then you do not know me at all. We have had enough death and misery in these halls over the last few months. I did not want two more.”

Yuuri shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m grateful, regardless of your motivation. But if that was your only reason to spare them, then yes. Then I do not know you at all. You are right about that.”

Admitting it had been painful, incredibly so. That he had kissed, held, comforted a man that he apparently did not know at all, whose motivations and views were so very different from his own that they couldn’t impossibly go together.

“I need time to think about a few things,” Yuuri had added, gaining Victor’s attention once more. “That’s why I would like to not teach for a while. I have given the children enough exercises that should keep them occupied. You don’t have to pay me for that time, obviously.”

Victor had nodded slowly at that. “What things?” He had asked then.

“You and I, amongst other things,” Yuuri had replied. “I would like to… bring some distance between us in order to be able to evaluate everything anew. In the light of the most recent events.”

Victor had sat back at that, rubbing his eyes with a gentle sigh. It was not very often that Yuuri had seen him at loss for words like that.

“Of course,” Victor had said then. “Take all the time you need to... “ He made a gesture with his hand.

Yuuri nodded. “Thank you. I will leave you to your work then.”

It was only as he touched the door handle that Victor spoke again, quietly, but loud enough for Yuuri to hear.

“I only did what I had to do, as the king.”

Yuuri looked back at him, meeting the eyes of the man he had given his heart to. They were full of sorrow.

“I know,” he replied softly. “I only wish you had let me in.”

And for the second time in two days, their ways had parted in silence.

Now, a month later, Yuuri had still not quite come to a solution, or even to a decision. The letter in his hand, however, could most likely take this burden from him, make the decision for him, even. Once he had broken the seal and unfolded the paper, he began to read.

By the time he had reached the end of the letter, Yuuri knew that he had to speak to Victor. Not just about the letter, but about everything else in general.

Without looking at Phichit, who had eyed the letter curiously, he walked out of their apartment and made his way through the endless hallways and courtyards to the king’s rooms. In front of the man’s study, however, he was stopped by a servant that Yuuri recognised as Victor’s personal secretary. A soft-spoken, friendly man that had treated Yuuri respectfully from the very beginning.

“I’m very sorry, sensei. His majesty has left the palace for a hunt,” the servant explained apologetically. “He will return in two or three days.”

Yuuri tried to ignore the ache in his chest as he realised that Victor had left without telling him.

But then again, Victor had no obligation to tell him anything.

He did not owe him a single thing.

“I understand,” Yuuri said. “Thank you.”

He walked away from the other man and back to his quarters, the letter heavy in his chest pocket. And with every step he took, Yuuri realised more and more that the trust that had once been between him and Victor had been shattered.

And that the change that he had been secretly hoping and praying for, the very thing that could make it work, that could make anything, that could make them work, would never come.

It simply was not in the nature of Russia, or for the one that carried the title of the Divine, to change for something so tender and fragile than love.

Guang Hong and Leo had been the proof of that.

And so, Yuuri returned to the apartment, sat down at his desk, and began to compose a reply to his emperor.

* * *

 

Yuuri heard about Victor’s return two days later as Yuri came to pick up Otabek for a round of ball games. The boy had shyly inquired about his teacher’s wellbeing, and Yuuri had assured him that he was fine, and that yes, he could tell the others that he’d talked to him and that he missed them all very much.

Knowing that Victor took his time after any sort of excursion to bathe and eat a few bites before returning to his desk, Yuuri waited until nightfall before he made his way through the palace again. This time, no one stopped him, and he was called into Victor’s study after only a moment of waiting.

Victor looked terrible, Yuuri thought to himself as he was led into the king’s private study by a servant. Despite coming out of the bath just an hour ago, Victor seemed as if he had not been able to close his eyes for more than a few minutes at a time. And yet, despite his apparent tiredness, he sat at his desk and scribbled away on some papers. Only as the servant announced who had come to see him, Victor looked up immediately, as if someone had given him an electric shock. With a wave of his hand, he sent the servant out, never taking his eyes off Yuuri. But no word came over his lips as he looked at Yuuri in an almost fearful way.

It was cruel, Yuuri thought, to face a man that looked like this.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Yuuri said softly. “I can come back another time.”

Only as Yuuri spoke, Victor seemed to wake from this state, and he shook his head. “No, no. I always have time for… for you.” It sounded as if he had been about to say something entirely different, but Yuuri knew better than to comment on it. It would only make things more painful for both of them. “What can I do for you?”

Yuuri stepped closer to the desk.

“I have received a letter from my Emperor,” Yuuri said, pulling out the piece of paper from his robe to present to Victor. “He offers me to return to the palace in Kyoto. As his personal secretary.”

Victor rose from his desk and walked around it towards Yuuri, taking the paper out of his hands. Yuuri stepped back a little, watching as the man’s blue eyes wandered over the lines. He was not sure if Victor, who still struggled with various kanji, was able to understand the entire message, but it surely was enough to grasp the overall meaning.

With every line that Victor read, his expression became more unreadable, until the mask that he wore in his role as king had fully returned.

It was a painful, heartbreaking sight.

“And you are inclined to accept his offer, I take it,” Victor said after a while, returning the letter to Yuuri.

Yuuri nodded, folding the paper carefully. “I have decided to accept his offer. I have come to inform you of my decision.”

Victor studied him attentively, as if searching his face for some hidden messages, before turning away from him.

“What a most generous offer, indeed,” Victor said, walking over to the small table where he kept his wine and a few glasses. “The Emperor’s personal secretary. What an honour it must be. More than what we can offer you here, of course. Where you are merely a teacher. I understand.”

The bitterness in Victor’s voice was undeniable, and every word cut right into Yuuri’s heart. Had he been the same man he had been upon arriving in Russia, Victor’s carefully directed words would have brought him to tears.

“Being a teacher is one of the greatest honours to a scholar like me, regardless of the circumstances,” he replied instead. “I have… immensely enjoyed being the teacher to the princes and princesses. I have learnt a lot from them, about Russia, and about myself. Therefore, I will always think back to my time as their teacher with fondness.”

“And yet, you don’t want to stay,” Victor said sharply as he poured himself a glass of wine. “Despite it being such a great honour, as you say.”

Yuuri frowned. “This is not a competition of honours,” he said softly. “And besides…” He looked down at the letter in his hands, choosing his next words carefully. “Me being here is painful for both of us. Is it not?”

Yuuri winced as the glass of wine was smashed down against the table, and Victor turned around with an angry shout.

“It wouldn’t have to be!” He barked, his grip tightening around the broken glass despite the shards that were cutting into his flesh. “It would not have to be painful, for either of us!”

“Victor, you are bleeding!” Yuuri gasped and rushed over to him, reaching for his hand to inspect the wound, but Victor swatted his hand away and grabbed a cloth to press against the cuts, muttering something under his breath.

“Victor, you need to pull out the shards and pour alcohol over the-”

“I know!” Victor snapped and flopped down on the sofa by the window, pulling the cloth away to inspect the cuts. It was obvious that he, despite being called the Divine and being regarded as almighty, had no idea how to proceed. And so, Yuuri closed the distance between them, grabbing the vodka from the tray along the way and sat down beside him to take care of the wound.

To his surprise, Victor held still as he worked, not making a single sound as Yuuri pulled out shard after shard and dropped them onto the silver platter on the table beside them. Once he had removed the last one, he opened the bottle of vodka and poured a little over the wound. Victor hissed at the sharp pain that he undoubtedly felt, and Yuuri had to grasp his wrist firmly to keep it in place.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he worked, making sure he had removed every single shard before continuing. Mari had often hurt herself as a child, and so, he had often been at her side whenever their mother or their family doctor had patched up her knees or elbows.

And a king also only consisted of flesh and blood like anyone else.

“Why can it not be like it was before?”

Victor’s voice was so quiet that Yuuri almost didn’t hear him. But then, Victor raised his head, looking at Yuuri with the same pained expression that he had seen on him before, in the hours following Rozalina’s death.

Yuuri carefully tore the cloth into strips and began to wrap them around Victor’s hand. “There are things that are not meant to be,” he said quietly. “And as much as we want them to work, we must accept that they never will. Regardless of… how much it hurts.”

“We could make them work,” Victor murmured. “Somehow.”

Yuuri made sure Victor’s hand was properly bandaged before letting go. “Somehow is not enough, I’m afraid,” he said and clasped his hands on his lap.

Victor touched the bandages on his hand, as if he were admiring Yuuri’s work on it.

“If I were not a king,” he said quietly, looking down at his lap. “Would you stay, then?”

Yuuri laughed softly, burying his face in his hands out of sheer instinct. How was it possible that Victor asked him the very same questions he had asked himself over and over again, and hadn’t found an answer for?

“I don’t know,” Yuuri admitted, shaking his head. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. At this point, I’m afraid to say that I do not even understand myself anymore. Let alone my motivations.”

Victor let out a small hum. “I understand what you mean,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I don’t approve of it, but I understand.”

“Then you understand why I have to go,” Yuuri said, rubbing his eyes before raising his head again, not wanting to be the coward that couldn’t look the other one in the eye. To his surprise, Victor was looking at him as well.

“Yes.” And then, hesitantly, Victor reached out and took Yuuri’s hand into his own. It was warm, so incredibly warm, like it always had been. Like on those days when they had taken walks through the garden, holding hands like an ordinary couple. Those were the hands that had caressed him, that had wiped his tears away, that had held him when he had felt alone.

It was pure coincidence that they were the hands of a king. But first and foremost, they were Victor’s. And in his hands, he held Yuuri’s heart.  
“I loved you, Yuuri,” Victor said softly. “And I still do.”

Yuuri closed his eyes, intertwining their fingers one more time. One last time.

“I know.”

* * *

 

Telling the children about his departure proved to be just as hard as telling Victor.

Two dozen little angels stared at him in shock before beginning to cry, to cling to his legs, begging him not to go, that they loved him and wanted him to stay forever. And no matter how hard their mothers tried to free Yuuri from their grasp, they kept returning to him, not understanding why he would leave.

Prince Yuri had taken only one long look at Yuuri before storming off.

Yuuri leaving meant that Otabek would also leave. Phichit as well.

And as they were responsible for Otabek, they could not just leave him behind.

Yuuri did not know what Otabek thought about their return to Japan, as the boy remained silent as always. He tried to ask him, tried to find out what the boy wanted, but each time he tried to speak to him, Otabek would turn away and continue packing. It did not take an expert to know that Otabek was showing his anger this way. Of course Yuuri tried to explain to the boy why they were leaving, but he was not sure if he heard him - or if he wanted to hear him in the first place.

Yuuri told himself that Otabek would make other friends. And that the boys could stay in touch via letter.

Like Phichit and Christophe.

Phichit had only been allowed at the palace because Yuuri had been employed there, and with Yuuri returning to Japan, Phichit had to follow him. Yuuri knew from the emperor’s letter that Phichit had been the one to inform the palace about his unhappiness, and since Yuuri was in the emperor’s favour - for some reason that Yuuri could not quite explain - the monarch had been happy to help. There would be positions for both Yuuri and Phichit upon their return. Of course Yuuri had assured Phichit that he wouldn’t mind if Phichit chose to stay in Russia, to be with Christophe, but Phichit had told him that his loyalties lay with the Katsuki family. That had been the end of the conversation.

But that did not mean that Phichit did not suffer heartbreak.

Christophe had promised him to write regularly, and to visit him as soon as possible.

Yuuri knew from experience that letters and promises, no matter how well-meaning, could only do so much.

The day of their departure was a cold one, the icy wind hitting their faces as they arrived at the harbour where a ship was already waiting for them to take them back to Japan. A ship that belonged to the trading union, and whose captain was more than happy to take a fellow countryman and his companions back home.

It seemed that their departure collided with some sort of holiday, for the streets were full of celebrating people with white and red flags, musicians playing at every corner, and food being distributed for free. Phichit had eventually approached someone and had asked about the nature of the festivities, only to be told that oh, a joyful day had come to Russia, for the white dragon had been spotted for the first time in one-hundred and seventy-four years.

“What is the white dragon?” Yuuri asked as they pushed their way through the celebrating crowd towards the pier where the sailors had already begun loading the boxes.

“A mystical creature said to be living in the mountains of the northern provinces,” Phichit explained, keeping Otabek’s hand firmly in his own as he followed Yuuri towards the pier. “It is said to have incredible powers, and unlimited wisdom. Those who see it will be blessed with a long life. It’s also the heraldic animal of the House Nikiforov.”

“Ah.” Yuuri walked up to the captain and showed him their tickets as the sailors began to load their belongings onto the ship. Perhaps it was good, he thought, that they were leaving now. He had messed with the House Nikiforov for too long, had been in too deep, had known too much.

It was not good to interfere with what was not one’s own.

He should have known that from the very beginning.

“Katsuki-sensei! Wait!”

If it had not been for Phichit who tapped him on the shoulder, Yuuri would not have seen the two men running down the pier towards them.

Lord Giacometti and --

Duke Yakov, of all people.

Yuuri frowned, watching the two men come down the pier towards their little group. Never before had they seemed so distressed - especially Yakov, whose stoic expression never changed.

“Thank the gods, we didn’t miss you,” Christophe sighed and came to stand in front of them, obviously out of breath. “Yuuri, I must beg you not to leave Russia. We need your help.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. “If this is about organising festivities regarding this white dragon, then I can’t help you.”

“We are not here for a bloody festival, Katsuki!” Yakov growled and seemed about to bark at him further, but a single glance from Christophe sufficed to calm him down.

“Indeed, we are not here regarding the festival,” Christophe said, and Yuuri couldn’t remember ever hearing the man sounding so serious before. “We are here because the person behind the ongoing attacks has been found.”

“What?” Yuuri was instantly alarmed. “Who is it? Have they been caught?”

Instead of giving an answer right away, Christophe hesitated for a moment, glancing at his companion. Yakov closed his eyes, turning his head.

“It is Prince Georgi,” Christophe said quietly, not wanting the people around them to overhear such sensitive information.

Yuuri stared at Christophe for a long moment, needing a few seconds to process the given information.

The king’s cousin. The man that Victor had regarded as his brother - a traitor?

“Are you sure?” Yuuri whispered in shock.

Christophe nodded solemnly and took Yuuri by the arm, leading him to the side to make sure they were not overheard. “There was a traitor amongst Georgi’s men who came to us once the prince had left the palace to execute some of Victor’s orders. He told us everything. Prince Georgi has assembled an army of his own to overthrow the government.” Christophe pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for a moment. “Believe me, no one saw this coming. Not Victor, not Duke Yakov, no one.”

“But… but why?” Yuuri breathed, thinking back of the few times that he had seen Victor and Georgi together, thinking of what Victor had told him about his cousin. That after Duchess Lilia’s death, he had been raised by the queen as if he were her own child. That Georgi had been treated as if he were Victor’s brother, that Victor loved him dearly, that Victor trusted him like no one else.

All for nothing.

“We do not know,” Christophe admitted. “You can imagine how Victor is feeling at the moment. He feels betrayed beyond the imaginable. A traitor within his own family. Of course this has happened before in Russian history, but one would have never thought that… in this time and age…” The king’s advisor shook his head.

Yuuri averted his gaze.

“I don’t know how I could be of any use in this matter, I’m afraid,” he said to Chris. “And I have… I have been interfering too much already, as a foreigner.” He avoided looking at Yakov as he said that, knowing very well what the older man thought of him. “I know this must be a difficult time for everyone, with the white dragon appearing at the same time, but I don’t-”

“There is no white dragon, Yuuri!” Christophe exclaimed tiredly. He sighed heavily and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. “There… there never has been.”

Yuuri stopped in his tracks, turning around to the other man. He had never seen Christophe Giacometti so helpless before, his face pale, searching for answers where there seemed to be none.

“The king has invented the white dragon to have an excuse to take the family up north,” Christophe explained in exhaustion. “He would never tell them the truth about the nature of the journey, otherwise the women and children would be upset. It is the only way for him to take them to safety, so that he can face Prince Georgi on his own.”

“On his own?” Phichit repeated in horror. “A single man against… against an army of traitors?”

“He would rather die proudly in battle than let someone else fight for him,” Yakov growled. “He is the son of his father. And a fool on top of that. But he cannot win this fight alone.”

Yuuri’s head was spinning with the new information, with the truth that had finally come to the surface. Never he would have believed that Prince Georgi, Victor’s cousin, would turn against him. A man that he regarded as his brother.

“Yuuri!” Christophe ignored the sailors working around them and stepped over the boxes to take Yuuri’s hands into his own. “Listen to me. My king believes that you are wise. Never before has a foreigner been trusted like he trusts you, not even I. If there is someone he will listen to, then it is you. He loves you.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, exchanging a look with Phichit. His friend, however, seemed equally impressed and just as clueless about what to do. Christophe would never lie to them, especially not to Phichit.

“Please, sensei,” Christophe pleaded. “If I need to go down on my knees and beg for your help, then I shall do it. Tell me what it will take for you to save us all. To save Victor.”

* * *

 

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Yakov hissed. “We do not have time to lose!”

“It’s not his fault that he’s afraid of horses!” Phichit snapped, watching with pity as Christophe helped Yuuri to mount one of the most magnificent horses they had ever seen. They had no time to lose, and since carriages would only slow them down, they would have to ride up north to meet Victor on the backs of their horses. Yuuri, however, was shaking like a leaf, and wound his arms around Christophe tightly as if he were his saving anchor.

“Have we all settled, then?” Yakov asked in annoyance, watching Otabek get onto Phichit’s horse with ease. “Even the boy is more accustomed to horses than-”

“Not everyone can be fond of horses, your highness,” Christophe said firmly and glanced back at Phichit and Otabek before looking over his shoulder down at Yuuri. “Hold onto me firmly, and you won’t fall.”

“I’m going to hold Victor accountable for every second of this,” Yuuri hissed and buried his face in the other man’s back.

“Rightfully so,” Christophe said. “Alright, then. Hold on tight.”

They rode for hours. Or at least it seemed like an eternity to Yuuri, who barely dared to raise his head to look at his surroundings, too afraid of falling. Every now and then, Christophe would shout information back to him about where they were, although the names of the towns and villages meant little to him as a foreigner. He tried to distract himself from the fact he was on the back of a horse and going faster than a human being ever should by thinking things through.

If Georgi wanted to overthrow Victor’s government with an army, then there would be bloodshed.

If there was bloodshed, there would be children involved.

What reason could Georgi have to hate Victor so much that he wanted to kill him? And his entire family, on top of that?

Georgi had been like a brother to Victor. Victor trusted him like no one else. He trusted him so much that he had even made him the Head of Intelligence - what an irony it was, Yuuri thought, that the traitor had been the one whose very job description it was to capture traitors.

But then again, there were many things under the sun that they would never understand.

Yuuri did not even want to imagine what it was like for Yakov, who had undoubtedly been questioned following the reveal of the traitor’s identity.

Their journey up north went on, the horses galloping as if they were aware of the importance of arriving in time. They would ride to the monastery where Victor had lived after Galina’s death, as it was the place where Victor wanted to take them for protection - pretending that they were going there to see the white dragon, a thing that had never existed in the first place. But the people would believe him, the children would believe him, believe the kind lie that their father told them to protect them.

Only Georgi would know that there was no such thing as a white dragon. Only Georgi would know that Victor was coming to end it for once and for all.

“Not long now,” Christophe called, and Yuuri dared to raise his head. They were riding through a forest, the trees and the ground covered in thick layers of snow. He looked back at Phichit at Otabek to see if they were alright, realising his mistake as he saw how fast they were going, and he clung to Christophe before he could fall off out of shock.

“That is the mountain,” Yakov growled from somewhere to their right. “We should see the-”

“I can see the rear guard,” Christophe called and forced their horse to go even faster, to give its best one more time. Yuuri looked up, forcing himself to hold his head high as they raced past the countless guards, horses, and carriages up to the front of the delegation. And there he was, high on a horse with fur as white as the snow.

Yuuri couldn’t remember ever seeing something, someone, so divine, than Victor in this moment.

“Victor!” Christophe called and the man himself turned around on his horse, his eyes widening at the sight of his friend, his uncle, and the people he had thought to never see again. Immediately, the delegation stopped and Victor dismounted his horse as Christophe got off his, pulling Yuuri with him as he rushed up the steep hill towards the king.

“Victor, please listen to me, only for a minute,” Christophe breathed, completely out of breath. “I know what you want to do, but you cannot do this alone. You have to-”

But Victor did not listen to him. He was looking at Yuuri, holding his breath, as if he could not believe he was there.

“You.” Victor’s voice was faint, barely audible, but Yuuri heard him nonetheless. The voice that had sent countless shivers down his spine, the voice that had whispered confessions of love, that had shared the deepest secrets and desires with him. Now it seemed broken, disbelieving.

But Victor’s eyes, his beautiful, blue eyes that Yuuri loved so much, never left him, shimmering in outmost adoration.

“What are you doing here?” Victor asked, taking a few steps towards Yuuri, hesitant, even. As if he could not quite believe that he was actually with him.

Yuuri looked over at the boys and girls for a moment that were all looking out of the carriages with big eyes, gasping at the sight of their beloved teacher.

“I already lost a child to something terrible, your majesty,” he said before meeting Victor’s gaze again. “And I am not willing to sit back and watch that happen a second time.” He took a few steps towards Victor, coming to stand right in front of him to speak quietly. “I know that there is no white dragon. I know that Georgi betrayed you.” There was the glint of pain in Victor’s eyes at that, and if they had been in any other situation, Yuuri would have tried to kiss the pain away. “You cannot face him alone. Let me help you, Victor. Let me help you protect your family that has become like my own to me.”

Victor took a deep breath, resting his hand on his hip as he raised the other to rub his eyes. “I have to end this, Yuuri,” he said quietly. “If I don’t end it now, then who knows what will happen to my family.”

“And that is why I’m here, Victor, you cannot win this fight alone, you-”

“It is too dangerous, Yuuri!” Victor cried out and grabbed him by the shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you for good, don’t you understand that?”

“And you listen to me very carefully, Victor,” Yuuri hissed, grabbing him by his cheeks. “I’m not going to stand there and watch you getting yourself killed! Think of your children! Think of Rozalina! For goodness sake, Victor, think of Galina!”

Something deep inside Victor seemed to slip out of place, for his eyes widened at Yuuri’s words, and the pain and despair that were in his heart came to the surface.

And so, he took Yuuri’s hands into his own, and brought them to his lips. “And what is your plan, my Yuuri?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAHH!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments


	12. Twelve

**Twelve**

* * *

 

The North had become a second home to Victor during his time at the monastery and had taught him valuable lessons. For the first time in his life, Victor had not lived comfortably in a palace. No, living with the monks had meant working and praying with them. Victor the Divine had learnt for the first time in his life what it meant to feel hunger, to get his hands dirty with fieldwork, and to wake with an aching back. Only with the day waiting ahead to be just as hard and unforgiving as the one before.

But the monks had been kind to him. They had given him all the time he needed to recover, to come to terms with his grief. They had listened to him, had sat with him when his grief threatened to overwhelm him. The abbot himself had given him well-meaning advice, some of it helpful, some of it useless. In the end, Victor had learnt that there was no sure formula for recovery and that all things needed their time. Even for a king.

Victor had hoped to come back to this place under different, happier circumstances.

Instead, he would have to use the monastery to hide his children.

The monastery was located hidden away between the Twin Mountains, the path leading up to it narrow and steep. Many careless travellers had broken their legs on the journey uphill, or had gotten lost in the woods, only to be rescued by the monks. Before the stiff climb began, however, one could rest in the small temple located at the bottom of the twin mountains.

Between the temple and where they stood, however, was a deep ravine. And the only way across was a bridge that had definitely seen better days.

Victor knew the chapel well. Upon returning from the monastery, he had visited it, and had erected a shrine for Galina. Every traveller would come across it and get the chance to pay respects to the beloved queen, and Victor was sure she would bless them all with safe travels in return.

All of this he had told Yuuri, who had come to sit with him after the delegation had set up a provisional camp at the wayside. It was rather odd, Yuuri thought, to sit next to Victor near the edge of a ravine on a tree log. He had not thought to ever see him again, especially not under such circumstances.

But his feelings, and his broken heart, had to come second now.

“You cannot face Georgi alone,” Yuuri said after they had talked everything through for the second time. “Yakov said he has an army. Rebels that hope to gain power once Georgi sits on the throne.”

“I know that they will not play nicely,” Victor replied. “But I know Georgi, and I know his pride. He will want to kill me personally, with no one else interfering. Although I really wish I knew why.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is the saddest part about betrayal. It never comes from your enemies.”

Yuuri had to fight the urge to reach out and take Victor’s hand, to assure him that even if there was a traitor, there were so many people that loved him and would never think of hurting him. But doing so would do more harm than good to whatever it was that existed between them.

“If he only wanted to kill me, then I would think differently about him,” Victor murmured, dropping his hand into his lap. “But to think that Georgi wants to…” He trailed off, glancing at the boys and girls that had gathered on a clearing for some rest, Victor’s wives doing their best to keep them all close together.

“I know,” Yuuri said quietly. “Christophe told me what the man that betrayed Georgi said.”

“He wants to murder my children, Yuuri,” Victor whispered, closing his eyes. “He wants to kill them all, to make sure there is no threat to his claim to the throne. His very own nieces and nephews. What have they ever done to him, I ask you?”

Yuuri looked down at his lap.

“There is no reason once there is madness,” he said quietly. “That is what my Emperor once said to me.”

Victor let out a short, joyless laugh. “Your Emperor is a smart man. No wonder you’ve been selected as his personal secretary.”

There were no ill intentions in Victor’s words, Yuuri knew that, but they hurt him nonetheless. But it was the right decision, he told himself over and over again.

Nothing good could ever come of the two of them. The worlds they lived in were too different from one another.

“Yuuri,” Victor said softly, pulling the teacher out of his thoughts. Their eyes met, and Yuuri believed to see a faint shimmer of the old Victor in them. The Victor that had laughed, that had spun him around in joy, that had kissed him senseless when no one had been watching. “Georgi’s troops are on the other side of the Twin Mountains. His army is too large to reach the monastery, therefore, my children will be safe there. I will come with you until the mountains part. From there, I will take the path to the other side with my men, and challenge Georgi to end this for once and for all.”

“Victor-”

“Please let me finish.”

Yuuri bit his lip, nodding to show that he understood.

“Georgi knows of the importance of a direct confrontation. He won’t allow his men to take the opportunity to slay me honourably away from him. Only in hand-to-hand combat, he will be able to demonstrate that he’s capable and worthy of taking the throne. His men may be rebels, but they used to be my father’s men before. They know the rules.”

“I see,” Yuuri said slowly. “But how can we-”

“No, Yuuri. Not we.” Victor gently took him by his shoulders. “I place my family in your hands. You, Christophe, and Yakov, you can protect them better than anyone else. If he kills me, he will come for Yura. I know you can fight with a sword, Yuuri, you told me so.” His grip on Yuuri’s shoulders tightened as the young teacher looked at him in shock. “You, Christophe, and Yakov, are the ones that I trust the most. You have to protect him. You have to protect them all. Do you remember what I said to you when we met? Each of them my pride and joy. Each of them my hope for the future.”

Never before had Yuuri heard such pain in the voice of another man, a pain that silenced him on the spot.

“I can protect myself,” Victor said quietly. “But Yura and the others, they cannot. Please, Yuuri. Be with them when I can’t.”

Yuuri only then realised that Victor would not allow any discussions, that he had made this decision some time ago and would not change it, no matter what anyone would say. He was determined to face Georgi on his own, to challenge him in hand-to-hand combat, to win like a ruler should, according to Russian tradition. Victor was a fool, a proud, idiotic fool, but Yuuri understood.

He understood, but did not approve.

Yuuri lowered his head. “I will protect them, I promise,” he whispered. “But only if you promise that you will return to us.”

The sound that escaped Victor’s throat was close to a whimper, but the king bowed his head, averting his gaze, as if nothing had happened at all. “Of course I will return,” he murmured. “And I will-”

“Father?”

The king and the teacher looked up, letting go of each other at once as they saw Prince Yuri approach them, his steps adorably determined for a child of his age.

But then again, Yuuri reminded himself as he clasped his hands on his lap, Yuri was no longer a child, but slowly turning into a young adult.

“Father, I need to talk to you,” Yuri said as he came to stand before them. “I-”

“I need to talk with you, too, Yura,” Victor said and rose, closing the distance between them and touching Yuri’s shoulder in a well-meaning manner. “Regarding the festivities taking place in the monastery for the white dragon, we-”

But Yuri gave his father the angriest stare Yuuri had ever seen on the boy, enough to make Victor pause in his speech.

“Do you think I’m stupid, father?” Yuri hissed, as if he did not want his siblings to hear. “A white dragon? I’m twelve, not three. Why are we really up here, father? Where is Uncle Georgi? I want to know.”

Victor opened his mouth to reply, but he seemed to be at a loss for words. In any other situation, Yuuri would have laughed about Victor’s inability to tell that his son could no longer be fooled with fantastic stories about magnificent beasts. But the way that Yuri looked at his father told them both that the boy sensed that something was wrong.

Victor sighed in defeat. “I will explain it to you,” he said. “To all of you.”

He put his hand on Yuri’s back and led him back to his brothers and sisters, Yuuri following close behind. The women and children looked up upon Victor approaching, the boys and girls gathering around him as they called for them. Behind them, Christophe and Yakov exchanged a few worried glances with Yuuri. But the teacher only shook his head.

Victor briefly looked up at the cloudy sky, taking a deep breath, as if asking the gods for strength. Then, he looked down at the boys and girls that he called his children, his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening.

“I won’t be able to come with you to the monastery,” he began, and promptly, the children began to protest. But Victor raised his hand and kept talking.

“Some of you have surely been worrying why your uncle Georgi has not come with us.” Victor’s gaze flickered towards Mila, who stood behind the children with the other wives, knowing just as little as them. “Unfortunately, he has turned against us.”

Mila’s eyes widened and she grasped the hand of the woman beside her, but Victor did not pause to give further explanations.

“We are up here because you will be safe in the monastery while I go to resolve this argument for once and for all. Yakov, Lord Giacometti, and Katsuki-sensei will go with you and keep you safe until I come to get you.”

For a moment, the children looked at him with wide eyes, the little ones too young to truly understand what was happening, but those that were older gripped each other’s hands tightly and moved closer around their father.

“Did we do something that made uncle Georgi angry?” Prince Adrian asked worriedly. Of all the children, Adrian was one of the most attentive students that Yuuri had ever seen, and very little ever escaped him. He knew what treason was, and what it meant for all of them. “Why would he hate you so much, father?”

“I don’t know,” Victor admitted, touching the boy’s head. “But I will soon find out.”

“There is no white dragon, right?” Princess Irina asked softly, her big, blue eyes shimmering in worry.

Victor shook his head. “No. I’m sorry that I lied to you, solnyshko, but I had to. I didn’t want you to be scared.”

“We are not scared,” Irina said and shook her pretty head, and her siblings promptly followed. “We can be brave until you come back.”

Victor smiled down at his daughter, gently patting her head. “That’s what I expected to hear from my warrior princess.”

“I want to stay with you, father!” Yuri stepped forward and came to stand between his sire and his siblings, looking up at Victor with a determination in his eyes that he had inherited from his mother. He had the eyes of a soldier, people would later say when they spoke of Yuri, but no one would know where this metaphor had come from.

Some said that it had its beginnings in the northern mountains. But only a few had been there to witness it, to witness the moment that a prince stood up to his king.

“I want to fight at your side, father!” Yuri declared angrily, his hands curled into fists as he spoke. “I will not stand here and watch how we are threatened!”

Despite his words of bravery, his voice was shaking and so was the rest of his body. Despite wanting to be strong, to fight alongside his father for the honour of his country, and for the lives of his family, Prince Yuri was nothing but a child that tried to hide its fear behind a mask.

Seeing the boy like this broke Yuuri’s heart into a thousand pieces.

Victor then closed the distance between himself and his son, going down to his knees before him to look him in the eye. Of all of his children, Yuri had always been the most difficult one, yet also the most determined. He could see the fire in his eyes, the sparkle that he had also seen in Galina. Her fire, her spirit, had been reborn in the heart of the prince, and Victor would do everything he could to protect him. Carefully, Victor put his sword down on the ground and reached up to cup Yuri’s cheeks.

“I am trying so, so hard to hide your soul, son,” Victor said quietly, kissing Yuri’s forehead. “From things it is not meant to see.”

This child, this most precious child, was the only thing he had left of Galina. He was the living proof of the love they had had for one another, for the passion between them, and for the pain that had come with her passing. And to protect this child, from the cruelty of the world and from the terrors the gods’ wrath brought upon them, was his first and foremost duty.

Victor caressed Yuri’s pale cheeks, unable to hide the small smile that came over him at the amazement in his son’s eyes. “You are my past, my present, and my future, Yura,” he said softly. “And this is why I entrust you with the highest responsibility of taking our family to the monastery. Lead them to safety. Stay with them until I come and get you. Can you do that for me?”

Yuri looked at his father with wide eyes, not used to him being like this towards him. “But what if you don’t come back?” He breathed.

“Then you will be the king of Russia,” Victor said. “And I could not think of a better protector of the realm to follow me.”

Yuri sniffed, and large tears started to roll down his cheeks as he threw himself into his father’s arms and allowed himself to cry. Victor wound his arms around him and held him close, kissing his hair and whispering assurances into his ear.

No matter how hard the prince tried over and over again to be strong - in the end, he was merely a child that needed his father, that worried about him and didn’t want to be left alone. Especially if one’s father was the king.

Slowly, Victor pulled away and kissed Yuri’s forehead once more before taking his little hands into his own. “I have never been prouder of you, Yura.”

Yuri swallowed thickly and nodded vigorously. “I will protect our family, father,” he said and stood up straight. “I will lead them to safety.”

“Good.” Victor patted his shoulder and rose from the ground, picking up his sword again. “Where is the boy, Otabek?” He asked, scanning the crowd for the familiar head of dark hair. Otabek appeared from behind Phichit, visibly confused why the king of all people wanted to speak to him.

Victor looked him up and down. “You look like a responsible young man to me,” he said. “And you are the best friend of my son. Please keep an eye on him for me whilst I cannot.”

Otabek gave a brief nod as an answer, earning an approving pat of Victor to his head.

Yuuri could not remember ever seeing something so encouraging and heartwarming.

“Good,” Victor straightened his shoulders, letting his gaze wander over the watching crowd, his wives, concubines, sons, and daughters.

Each of them his pride and joy.

Each of them his hope for the future.

“We will depart immediately,” he declared and then made his way back over to Yuuri. There was something he had to do first, before they could continue with their journey.

Before he had to part from them.

“I will go to the temple across the bridge and pray first,” Victor said to Yuuri, placing his sword against the tree log they had been sitting on earlier. “Weapons are not permitted in temples,” Victor added when he noticed Yuuri’s confusion. “It won’t take long. I’ll be with you before you reach the next clearing.” He eyed the bridge in front of them, then looked at his horse that was peacefully grazing under a tree. “And I better go there by foot. I doubt that my horse would feel safe on that bridge. Or that it would carry us both.”

Yuuri nodded. “Please take care,” he said, not sure if he worried more about the bridge or about Victor going to the temple unarmed.

Victor then took his hand for a moment, only long enough to give it a gentle squeeze. “I will be back soon,” he promised. And then his hand was gone, within the blink of an eye, and Yuuri could only stand and watch as Victor marched across the bridge, not caring about the abyss below, and towards the temple.

Yuuri stayed where he was until Victor had arrived safely on the other side of the ravine and entered the temple. Then, he turned around and walked back to the others, where Christophe and Yakov were trying to assure the worried women that Victor knew what he was doing, and that they would protect them at all costs. Yuuri could not blame them for being doubtful.

“You heard your father, children,” Yuuri said and went to busy himself by helping the children to pack up their toys again to continue the journey. “He’ll be back from prayer soon, and we want to be on our way already then, right?”

“Sensei?” Irina tugged on his sleeve. “Will father really be safe?”

“Of course he will be safe,” Yuuri lied, his heart aching at the thought of Victor facing Georgi on his own. “Don’t you remember all the stories? How many enemies he has slain? He will be with you at the monastery before you even notice that he’s been away.”

Irina nodded solemnly and picked up her blanket and dolls, putting them back into the wooden boxes so that the servants could take them away. Soon, all of the children had packed up their things and were put back into the carriages by their mother. Yakov, supervising the entire delegation, called for departure, and the carriages began to move uphill again, leaving behind only those that would be taking horses, among them the crown prince, Phichit, Otabek, and Yuuri himself.

“My kite! My kite!” One of the princes suddenly shouted, pointing out of the carriage at a tree where the toy had gotten stuck.

But before Yuuri could even turn to a guard to ask for assistance, Otabek had already begun to climb the tree so skillfully that Yuuri made a mental note to ask Otabek where he had learnt to get up a tree like that.

“Thank you, Otabek,” he said. “But make sure you don’t fall, okay?”

Otabek nodded briefly and kept climbing upwards.

Yuuri went to help the guards with the rest of the thing that needed to be packed, picking up blankets cushions and tossing them back into the boxes. He hoped that Victor’s prayer would be quick, the uneasiness in his stomach growing by the minute. Phichit worked with him, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he said quietly. “The king has always had fortune on his side, they say.”

Yuuri huffed. “Fortune on his side, but there is madness on the other, I don’t know if-”

“Yuuri, there is a man riding towards the temple.”

Never before had they heard him say a word, but Yuuri knew immediately that the voice was Otabek’s. He turned around immediately, rushing back to the tree where Otabek sat on a branch with the kite in his hand, the other pointing across the ravine.

A single man was riding towards the temple, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. For a pilgrim, however, his attire was too good, his horse’s step too controlled.

“Phichit, the spyglass, quick,” Yuuri said and began to climb the tree as well, grabbing the spyglass that Phichit had pulled out from the bag of his saddle and holding it up to his eyes.

His eyesight adjusted just in time to watch Prince Georgi dismount his horse and walk up the last few metres to the temple, the sword he carried on his belt shimmering in the light of the sun.

“Victor…”

The spyglass slipped out of Yuuri’s hands and fell to the ground, hitting Phichit on the head and knocking him out, but he could not have cared less. He was unable to hear the boys that kept grabbing at him once he was back on the ground, trying to get through to him, but Yuuri could not think. He had to warn Victor, he had to get to him before it was too late.

The bridge was too old, too unstable, to carry both him and a horse. The wooden planks would break before he would have even reached the other side.

There was no other way but to run.

“Sensei, wait!” Yuri called, but Yuuri was already out of reach, running across the bridge towards the temple, Yakov, Christophe, and the rest of the delegation too far away to notice any of it.

Otabek quickly climbed down the tree, landing on his feet beside Yuri, who had been watching the scene unfold, his eyes fixed on his teacher who had just reached the other side of the ravine.

In his hands, the prince held the dagger that Yuuri had kept on his belt, and that had come off when he had jumped down.

The boys looked at each other for a moment before they bolted after their teacher across the bridge.

* * *

 

If one entered a temple in Russia for the very first time, one would be overwhelmed by the magnificence of such a place. The grandeur and splendour of the Russian temples was well-known beyond its borders, tales telling the long and rich history of these holy places. The temples were the houses of the gods, the places where one could get into contact with them through prayer or sacrifice. And it was a place where one could hope to speak to the dead, although those never answered.

It was comforting to do so anyway.

For Victor, praying in a temple, and speaking to Galina, had always been his preferred method of coping.

The temple was small, but nonetheless of a magnificent kind. The altar was made of pure gold, made of the jewels Galina had worn on her wedding day. The incense sticks were of the finest quality, filling the temple with the sweet, heavy scent that was said to please the gods. And before this altar, Victor knelt, hands put together in humility and prayer, his lips moving but no words coming over them.

“No need to pray so hard, Victor. You can tell Galina and the gods everything yourself very soon.”

Victor winced at the sudden voice and opened his eyes.

There, in the reflection of the polished, golden altar, he saw Georgi standing behind him, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Victor sighed.

It was not that he was surprised to meet Georgi again in a temple. If anything, he was disappointed that his cousin had reached a level so low as to search confrontation in a holy place.

“I didn’t think we would meet again so soon,” he said softly and bowed his head once more before the altar before he turned around on his knees.

Georgi looked down at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Kneeling before me already, Victor?”

Victor couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him. No, the temples had never been Georgi’s favourite place, even as a child. It should not have been surprising that proper temple etiquette, such as favouring kneeling before standing, was beyond him.

“Kneeling before the gods, as everyone should,” Victor said calmly, taking in Georgi’s appearance. He was wearing the armour he had received upon coming of age, the material the best of the best. Victor remembered the day Georgi had put it on the first time, how he had smiled, how proud he had been. That day, they had sneaked out of the palace together, two young princes drinking their way through every tavern within reach, only to be dragged back by their feet by Yakov in the early morning.

The lecture they had received in return was still ringing in Victor’s ears.

None of this seemed to matter anymore, at least not to Georgi, Victor noted sadly. “Why are you here, Gosha?”

Georgi huffed at the usage of his nickname, the one only Victor had ever used. “Don’t ‘Gosha’ me, Victor,” he said. “You know why I am here. To bring an end to this.” His grip around his sword tightened, and Victor followed the motion with his eyes.

“To draw a sword in a temple,” Victor said, eyeing the weapon briefly before his gaze flickered up to Georgi’s face again. “You have truly lost yourself to madness.”

Georgi raised his eyebrow. “Oh, you misunderstand, I’m afraid,” he said. “I have never been able to think clearer. Sometimes one must sacrifice traditions and step over certain limitations in order to achieve greatness.” His gaze wandered to the altar for a moment. “The gods will forgive me for staining this place with blood. But since it is yours, and therefore divine, it won’t make that much of a difference.”

“Nonetheless, I would like to know why I am having this honour,” Victor replied, narrowing his eyes. “What have I done to you, Georgi?”

“No, Victor. The question is, what have you done to Russia,” Georgi said. “And what you-”

Suddenly, the temple doors facing the bridge were pushed open with a loud bang. Both Victor and Georgi turned their heads in surprise as, Victor gasping as the light of his life in the form of Yuuri Katsuki rushed into the temple, gasping for air. “Victor! He is-”

But Georgi had already drawn his sword and approached Yuuri with quick steps, the teacher raising his hand and moving backwards, reaching to his belt, patting around to find the dagger that had been there, only to realise in horror that it was gone.

“You are here for me, Georgi!” Victor barked and rose to his feet, grabbing the nearest object and threw it at the back of his cousin’s head, but Georgi did not react. He raised his sword, ready to strike as the doors were kicked open once more. Yuuri jumped to the side, but the man that had come in grabbed him before he could escape Georgi’s sword and held his own dagger to his throat.

“Yuuri!” Victor screamed and tried to get to him, but Georgi had turned around and held the sword up to Victor’s chin, stopping him before he could another step.

“Ah, Petrov, just in time,” Georgi said without taking his eyes off Victor. “I knew the teacher would probably cause us trouble.”

Victor stood frozen, his eyes wide as Lord Petrov, the man whose family had served the throne for generations, pressed his dagger against Yuuri’s throat, keeping him in his firm grasp.

His son had not liked Petrov from the very beginning. And Victor began to see why. Petrov held Yuuri firmly in his grasp, the sharp blade of his dagger pressed against Yuuri’s throat, ready to end his life as soon as Georgi gave the order.

“Ah, let him live for a little longer,” Georgi said suddenly, glancing at them over his shoulder before returning his focus on Victor again. “I want the Nip to watch.”

Petrov nodded and dragged Yuuri with him to the centre of the hall.

“Georgi,” Victor said with a shaky voice, trying to stay calm despite the fact that the man he loved was in the hands of the enemy. “Whatever reason you have to do this, you have to stop it now. We can fix this, whatever it is that upsets you so.”

“Oh yes, we can,” Georgi agreed with a laugh. “Why do you think I am doing this, Victor? I am here to fix the state of things. To return Russia to its initial glory. The glory it possessed under your father’s reign.”

“What are you talking about?” Victor was confused. “Georgi, Russia is richer than ever before. Our people have enough to eat. We have allies and-”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Georgi sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should have this conversation with your wife instead. She would know.” He glanced at the altar, at the silver plaque with her name on it.

“Galina was a woman of high calibre,” Georgi said, sounding almost wistfully as he spoke of her. “She knew how to govern, indeed. Do not get me wrong, Victor. You had been taught well by your most honourable father, but you were hesitant. But Galina, oh, she knew when to withdraw, and when to strike.”

“Don’t you dare to say her name,” Victor hissed, but Georgi ignored him and withdrew his sword from him, beginning to slowly pace the room. As long as Yuuri was in Petrov’s grasp, Victor would not dare to move.

And Georgi knew that.

Victor hated himself for misjudging his cousin so greatly.

“And then she died.” Georgi sighed heavily, as if in honest sympathy for Victor’s loss. “The light of Russia, gone, all of a sudden. Believe me, Victor, I understand how you felt back then, I-”

“Don’t you dare to claim to know my feelings!” Victor barked, but Georgi merely raised his hands in defense.

“I’m not saying that I understand the pains of a loving husband, as I never had the pleasure to get married, Victor, but believe me, I do know grief. I had to bury my own mother. And to watch you having to bury Galina, Yura’s mother… my heart broke for you, Victor. It really did.”

Georgi had reached the altar and bowed his head in deference for a moment before he continued.

“But then the country descended into chaos because you couldn’t control your grief. It is one thing to mourn, but something entirely different to go insane over it. You are not a common man, Victor, you should have known that! I heard the whispers while you were gone, playing monk and farmer in the mountains. I heard what they were saying, and some of them even approached me directly. They said, Oh, my dear Prince Georgi, why don’t you take control? You can see that our king is going insane!” Georgi shook his head. “But I declined. I told them that you only needed time. And as it turned out, I was right! You came back, after all.”

Victor followed him with his eyes. “I came back,” he confirmed. “And I did my duty, everything that was expected of me. So what about it displeased you? I don’t understand.”

“The problem is what you came back with!” Georgi snapped and glared at Victor, who had only begun to understand the extent of the madness his cousin had fallen into. “At first it seemed that you had pulled yourself together. And then your madness showed again, with your sudden love for everything foreign. You went so far that you made a foreigner your advisor. You did not hear your people, how shocked they were, but I tried my best to calm them down. Giacometti was as good as Russian, I told them, not a threat. And then you started learning this ghastly language. And started corresponding with that Emperor. Immersed yourself in foreign things. And then you sent for him.”

Georgi’s eyes wandered to Yuuri, who was shaking in Petrov’s grasp, looking him up and down like an insect ready to crush.

“The moment I saw how you looked at him I knew that I had to do something. You were not aware of it back then, I believe, but you looked at him as if he were Galina. Tainting her memory with your wanton thoughts about a foreigner. You let him come near your children. Near Galina’s son.”

“You are mad, cousin,” Victor said, hesitantly reaching out for Georgi as if he wanted to take his arm. “What I feel for Yuuri has nothing to do with Galina. Do you think it did not pain me, that I had fallen in love despite having sworn myself to her, beyond death? Believe me, Georgi, it did. And it still does.”

“Oh no, Victor,” Georgi replied, shaking his head. “The moment she died, something inside you snapped. They couldn’t see it, but I saw it immediately. You lost your sanity because of your grief. And you never recovered from that. They planted those seeds in your head, all the people around you that you call your friends, convinced you to this madness of opening Russia to others. And what did we get from it? Chinese whores, Swiss sodomites, and a Nip who doesn’t know his place!”

Georgi let out a shaky laugh, shaking his head vigorously. “If only Galina could see you like this now, Victor,” he said sadly. “She would be disappointed. Unlike you, she loved Russia with all her heart. All that you love is right here.” He gestured at Yuuri, looking him up and down as the young teacher struggled in Petrov’s grasp. Georgi tilted his head to the side, reaching out and grabbing Yuuri’s chin, as if to study him closely.

“Don’t you dare to touch him!” Victor yelled, but Georgi paid no attention to his words. He met Yuuri’s gaze, smiling lightly as he found the fear in them.

“If only you had known your place. It’s not as if I had never reminded you,” Georgi murmured and let go of him again. “But do not be afraid, sensei. Your death will be quick. One root of Russia’s downfall gone, with the next to follow.” He turned around to Victor again, eyeing his sword. “Do not be afraid, Victor,” he said quietly, raising his sword slowly. “Soon enough, you will meet your children again, at the gates to paradise.”

“Gosha, please, I beg you-”

But before any last words could have been spoken, they were interrupted by a loud groan, and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor with a bang. Both Victor and Georgi spun around just in time to watch Lord Petrov let go of Yuuri and faint, the massive, golden sacrifice bowl that had been used to hit him on the head rolling across the floor. A child stood behind Petrov, panting heavily as it looked down at what it had done, and Victor realised in horror that the child was his son.

“Yura,” Victor breathed. “Yura, run!”

And then, there was the shimmer of a blade, the light of the sun reflecting on it and blinding Victor as someone attacked Georgi from behind, holding tightly onto him like a rabid cat determined to kill. Georgi let out a shout of rage, trying to shake off the attacker, reaching back to grab them, but a pair of hands had wrapped around his head, and his throat was slit with a swift, single cut.

Georgi’s eyes widened in terror. He stumbled backwards, and for a moment, Victor believed that nothing had happened, that there was no cut on his cousin’s throat, that it was nothing but a scratch. But then the blood began to flow, splattering and staining their clothes and the ground as Georgi fell to his knees.

Otabek stumbled back, Yuuri’s dagger firmly in his small hands, blood dripping from its blade.

“O-Otabek…” Yuuri breathed, staring at his protégé, unable to believe what he had just seen, that this boy, this quiet, shy boy, had killed the traitor and saved Victor’s life.

For a painfully long moment, Georgi stared ahead, his eyes wide in wonder, his hand coming up to his throat almost casually as if to check for a possible scratch. And then, as if on cue, he collapsed onto the stone ground, the blood staining the white surface.

“Georgi!” Victor screamed and rushed to his side, grabbing his cousin and pulling him into his lap, helplessly touching at him, caressing his pale cheeks. “Georgi, my brother, look at me,” he whispered, kissing his forehead. “D-don’t take your eyes off me, Georgi, w-we can fix you, everything is forgiven, we can-”

“M-M…” Georgi pressed out, a terrible gurgling sound escaping his throat as he tried to gasp for air.

“Don’t talk, Georgi, save your strength!” Victor whimpered and held him close, rocking him back and forth on his lap like a child. But Georgi could not hear him anymore. The king’s cousin was looking up at the beautifully painted ceiling of the temple, his eyes wide in awe.

“M-Mama….”

And then, Georgi went still in Victor’s arms, and the life left his body, taking the light in his eyes with it.


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! It took me longer to write the chapter this time, but I'm glad I'm done now. This chapter is slightly longer than the ones before, but you'll see why. Enjoy!

**Thirteen**

The king’s troops reached the temple only minutes later.

Phichit, upon waking up from being knocked out and finding Yuuri, the prince, and Otabek gone, had taken his horse and rushed up the hill towards Christophe and Yakov. Immediately, the entire delegation had turned around, Yakov and Christophe riding ahead, only to find their king kneeling in the temple, sobbing as he held the lifeless body of his cousin in his arms. With him was Yuuri Katsuki, holding Yuri and Otabek close, as if he were trying to hide them from the world.

Yakov had fallen to his knees beside his son, screaming out his agony and pain over the loss of his only child, over the shame that had been brought upon their name.

The prince had whimpered in his teacher’s arms, the events of the day too much for his young soul.

In the end, it had been the monks from the monastery that had come to their rescue. The abbot himself had knelt beside Victor, whispering words of consolation to the king and his uncle as Georgi’s body was taken away to be buried in the monastery’s grounds. Traitor or not, Georgi had been Victor’s family, almost a brother to him. Having him buried in holy soil was the last thing he would ever be able to do for him, and the only form of consolation he could offer his uncle.

The monks had taken the royal family with them to the monastery, welcoming them in their halls with a simple, warm meal and genuine kindness. Christophe and Phichit had taken the horses to ride back to the next town to call for more troops, the soldiers coming with them escorting the traitor Petrov back to the capital where a trial would be waiting for him. But with Georgi dead and Petrov captured by the royal guard, the rebels would soon surrender, and peace would return to Russia.

The price they had to pay, however, was incredibly high.

Victor held Yuri in his arms, holding his son close like he’d always held Princess Rozalina. The prince was asleep, the exhaustion of the day had taken over his body, leaving him with barely enough strength to cling to his father. His fists were curled into Victor’s shirt, his face buried in his chest as he was held by him in a protective embrace.

Victor lowered his head, nuzzling Yuri’s hair gently. His son, his incredible, brave son, had taken action in order to save them. He had swallowed his fear in order to protect them, despite being only a child. And despite the fact Victor had never wanted Yuri to see such horrible things, he was incredibly proud of him.

And he was incredibly grateful to Otabek, too.

Victor turned his head, letting his gaze wander over the heads of his family. His sons and daughters sat close together in the dining hall of the monastery, eating peacefully under the supervision of their mothers and nurses that tried to keep them calm. The monks distributed stew, bread, and fruit, fondly watching their young guests.

And there, in a corner by the large windows, sat Otabek, eating his portion in silence.

“I’ll speak to him,” Yuuri said from beside Victor, making the king almost jump on his seat. Yuuri had this gift of appearing out of apparently nowhere, his quiet nature such a stark contrast to Victor’s own.

“Is he alright?” Victor asked, gently playing with his son’s hair. “He surely must be overwhelmed with it all like Yura…”

Yuuri shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Otabek has never really shown me how he really feels. Let alone spoken to me about it.”

Victor hummed in understanding, holding Yuri a little tighter as the boy stirred in his sleep. “But he spoke, you said. When he saw…” He trailed off, swallowing thickly, unable to speak further of Georgi.

Yuuri nodded. “But that does not mean he feels able to speak again,” he said. Nonetheless, he gave Otabek a long, thoughtful look. “I’ll see if he wants to join us.”

Victor watched wordlessly as Yuuri got up from his seat and walked across the dining hall towards the boy in the corner.

If anything could get a word out of the boy, Victor thought, then it was his Yuuri.

…

“Otabek?” Yuuri said softly as he approached him, not wanting to startle the boy. Otabek looked up from his meal, his intelligent, brown eyes attentive, albeit with a certain tiredness in them. Yuuri truly could not blame him. Not after such a day.

“May I join you?” Yuuri asked, gesturing at the empty spot next to him.

Otabek gave a brief nod, shifting a little on his seat to make space for his teacher. Yuuri sat down and clasped his hands on his lap, watching the boy eat. The stew the monks had made was rich and hearty, the kind of food that gave comfort from the inside and warmed the heart and soul.

“I just wanted to ask you how you are feeling,” Yuuri explained himself. “Everything that has happened today… must have an impact on someone so young like you. I just want you to know that despite what has happened today, you do not have to feel responsible for anything. What you did was incredibly brave.”

“I know,” Otabek replied, much to Yuuri’s surprise. His voice was not as high as he had thought, the voice of a boy that was on the brink to maturation. It was calm, composed, the words carefully selected.

Yuuri nodded to show that he understood.

“This was not the first time you’ve done something like this, right?”

Otabek seemed to shiver at that, but his reaction came almost instantly in the form of a nod. Yuuri’s heart broke for him, for the boy that had been through so much, but had never spoken about any of it. For how many years, Yuuri wondered, had Otabek been forced to keep quiet about his past, about himself?

Otabek clasped his hands around the bowl on his lap, watching the steam rise from the hearty stew. “I took revenge for my mother and father,” he said eventually, as if it were nothing of great importance. “I killed the man that killed them. That is all.”

“Would you like to speak about it?” Yuuri asked.

The conflict was visible on his young face that had seen more than a child should ever witness. “Not at the moment,” he replied calmly and met Yuuri’s gaze again. “One day, perhaps.”

Yuuri nodded understandingly. “Of course,” he said and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I’m just glad that you have found your voice again.”

“It was never gone,” Otabek said softly and then continued to eat, each spoonful carefully measured until the bowl was empty.

Yuuri smiled. “Would you like some more?”

Otabek glanced shyly at the monks that were still generously giving out food, and nodded. Yuuri offered him his arm, reaching out just in time as Otabek began to stumble and fell against him, the wooden bowl falling out of his hands and to the floor.

“Oh dear,” Yuuri murmured, picking up the boy and patting his back. Otabek groaned softly, but seemed otherwise fine. It was not rare for people to go through shock only once they had calmed down to a certain degree, and a boy like Otabek was no exception.

Carefully, Yuuri carried Otabek with him to the long benches and sat down with him beside Victor, letting the boy rest against his chest for as long as he would need it.

Victor looked Otabek up and down, reaching out to touch the boy’s hair. “Are you alright, Otabek?” He asked softly, not sure if he had ever truly paid attention to the child that had come to Russia together with Yuuri. Otabek sniffed, curling up on Yuuri’s lap.

“It has been too much for him,” Yuuri said quietly. “Just like Yura.”

“I see,” Victor murmured, smiling softly as one of his younger daughters came to sit by his feet, munching away happily on some fruit the monks had given her. A few more joined them, leaning against his and Yuuri’s feet, some even closing their eyes for a little nap. Yuuri smiled down at them, the mere sight of it making Victor’s heart soar.

But Yuuri had not come to stay, and that hurt Victor more than anything else.

The abbot asked to speak with Victor once the women and children were done eating, and Yuuri took the prince into his lap as if it were nothing. Yuri and Otabek curled up against each other in their sleep, and for a moment, Victor wondered if he was not asking too much of Yuuri, but the teacher just smiled and waved his concern off. “I’ll take care of them,” he said softly. “Go and speak with the abbot.”

Victor nodded and walked away, with Yuuri watching him until he was out of sight.

Yuuri sighed and lowered his head, absentmindedly pressing gentle kisses to the heads of the boys in his arms. They had been so brave, so strong, and did not even grasp the extent of what they had managed to save the entire kingdom from. Yuuri was sure that Victor would think of a reward of some sort for Otabek at some point, bestow honours upon the boy, or whatever was custom in Russia in such cases.

It would still be too much for Otabek, Yuuri was sure about that. What Otabek needed the most was stability, a safe home, and someone to guide him. He needed peace.

Yuuri was not sure if he could give him that in Russia, when he could not be at peace with it himself.

At the sound of opening doors Yuuri looked up, watching Chris and Phichit enter together. Phichit’s gaze fell onto Yuuri, greeting him with a smile before returning his attention to his lover. The two exchanged a few words before Chris went outside again, and Phichit made his way through the dining hall to Yuuri.

“You look like you could need a hand,” he said as he sat down and took Otabek from Yuuri without waiting for an answer from his friend. Yuuri didn’t protest, holding the prince closer instead once the weight of Otabek had been taken off him.

“Did everything go well?” Yuuri asked quietly.

Phichit nodded. “The troops are on their way. Chris is sure that the rebels will surrender. Without Georgi they no longer have a supporter with money.”

“And Petrov?”

Phichit huffed. “The coward cried the whole way to the town. Begged for mercy. Claimed he’d made a mistake. We handed him over to the local authorities. They’ll take him to the capital and from there it’ll be the usual procedure for a traitor. Trial, and execution.” Phichit then glanced at the door through which they had just come. “Chris went to the king to keep him up to date. I saw him speaking with the abbot.”

“They’re close, I think,” Yuuri murmured. “This is the monastery where he stayed for five years when his wife died. The abbot helped him through a lot.”

“Oh, wow,” Phichit said and raised an eyebrow, looking around in the humble dining hall. “This place must mean a lot to him.”

“I think it does,” Yuuri agreed, looking down at the children surrounding them. “It’s why he took them here. This is the safest place that he knows.”

“Do you think we’ll stay here for long?” Phichit asked. “I mean…”

Yuuri had asked himself the same question already, but he was not sure if he understood Victor’s actions thoroughly.

“I don’t think he wants to upset the children more than necessary,” Yuuri said, his gaze flickering to the door as it opened once more. The abbot came in, without Victor, and made his way through the room towards Yuuri and Phichit. For an old man, Yuuri thought, he moved surprisingly well.

“We have prepared rooms for all of you,” the abbot said softly in Russian, slow enough for Yuuri to understand. “So that you and the children may get some rest after the events of the day. I will take you to your rooms, if you don’t mind.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said and carefully rose from the bench with Yuri in his arms, Phichit following him with Otabek whilst the women went to pick up their own children to take them to bed. The sun had already begun to set outside. Yuuri realised that he had completely lost track of the time. To him, it had felt as if it were still midday, but the night was approaching fast.

Perhaps, he thought to himself as he followed the abbot through the monastery, it was good that this horrible day came finally to an end. When morning came, the world would be a safe place for the children again.

The abbot took them to a separate building that seemed to have been designed for the sole purpose of housing guests. The rooms were small but sufficient, with two beds per chamber. Yuuri and Phichit would share the one and give the other to the boys, unless Victor chose to take Yuri to his own room – which would surely be considerably larger than theirs. They put the boys down on their bed and tucked them in, watching as Yuri and Otabek hugged each other in their sleep.

“You should get some sleep as well,” Phichit remarked, studying Yuuri attentively. “You almost died today.”

Yuuri huffed, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. It was true, he was tired, but he knew he would not find rest if he lay down now. He needed air.

Phichit, who had long since mastered the study of Katsuki Yuuri and his many expressions, patted his shoulder. “Go and get some fresh air,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Yuuri smiled weakly. “Thanks, Phichit.”

Phichit shrugged, flopping down on the other bed and stretching out. “Just don’t come back pregnant, that’s all I’m asking.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and walked out of the room, closing the door behind himself carefully before contemplating which way to go. Eventually, he decided to let his feet take him anywhere, as long as it was outside, and peaceful enough to clear his head.

The monastery, Yuuri found as he walked through its long hallways and courtyards, was a beautiful place. Old, incredibly old, even, but with a soothing atmosphere that Yuuri found very comforting. He understood why Victor had claimed that this place had healing powers, although he found it hard to imagine him wearing the simple gowns of the monks, kneeling in the dirt and planting vegetables in the soil. Victor was always Victor in his head. Wearing magnificent clothing, golden crowns and jewels.

Victor was always a king.

The sound of gentle humming pulled Yuuri out of his thoughts, and he realised that he had reached the other end of the monastery that led into the prayer hall. He turned around a corner, stopping in his tracks as he found himself at the door to this holiest of all places. The monks had gathered for their evening prayer, kneeling on the ground and singing their songs that were as old as time. In the palace, Yuuri had seen and heard little of the religious people that lived there. But here, in the sanctuary of the monastery, he could feel it. The spirit of the gods that they believed in, and the holiness of their ritual.

Yuuri could not move, for he was too enchanted, too amazed and too much in awe of what he was allowed to witness. How many foreigners, he wondered, had ever been so close to the heart of Russia?

Because that was what this was. It was not the court, or the military, no, not even Victor as the king. It was the faith of the Russian people, the gods that they kept in their hearts, the soul and essence of everything they did, and what they based their actions on. Such things were incredibly hard to understand for an outsider. Yuuri knew how foreigners in Japan struggled to understand their ways, and here in Russia, it was no different. But here, he was the foreigner, the outsider. The one that was allowed to stay, but could never truly belong.

A hand slipped into his own, and Yuuri took it without hesitation. Victor’s hand was warm and gentle as it had always been. It was needless of him to make his presence known. Yuuri knew him well enough by now to know that Victor would also wander the halls in search for an answer to a question he could not compose. That eventually, the holy songs would draw him in and bring them together again, even if only for a minute.

The beauty of the moment and its evanescence drowned their hearts in both joy and sadness.

“When I first came here, I hardly spoke,” Victor said ever so quietly, neither of them looking at the other, but watching the monks instead. “I did not want to come out of my room. But when the evening prayer began and I heard their songs, my feet brought me here. I stood where you stand now.”

Yuuri squeezed Victor’s hand hard, fighting against the urge to let his tears flow freely. But Victor did that for him, the young king’s voice breaking more with every word.

“For a moment I believed to hear my Galina sing. She loved to sing, at every hour of the day. She would sing to me, to Yura, to the babies in her belly, to the ones that we lost, to the ones that we never got to meet. A-And when she died, I thought I would never hear her s-sing again…”

Yuuri pulled Victor into his arms and held him close, burying his face in his neck and praying to the gods, to all gods that they were, to just give them this moment, just this hour, just this minute, to share their pain. Victor sobbed into Yuuri’s neck, his hands holding onto him as if he were his anchor, the only thing to keep him from drowning. And Yuuri’s heart ached for him, reached out for him, searching frantically for a way to help him, to take his pain away for good because here they were, alive and in one piece, blessed by the gods to share their sorrows.

“But here I stand,” Victor breathed, pulling away ever so slightly to look Yuuri in the eye, whose own tears had begun to roll down his cheeks. “I should have died today, but I did not. All because of you.”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, shivering as Victor ran his thumb across the faint scratch that Petrov’s dagger had left on his throat. It was nothing, barely noticeable, but to Victor, it was the proof that he had failed at protecting the man he loved the most. That he had almost lost him.

“You wanted to save me,” Victor whispered, searching Yuuri’s face for an answer to his unspoken question. “Although I hurt you so.”

“I could never forsake you, Victor,” Yuuri breathed, casting down his eyes as the tears began to flow once more.

“Then why must you go, my Yuuri?” Victor whispered, reaching up to cup Yuuri’s cheeks ever so tenderly, as if he were afraid of breaking him.

“Because my emperor commands it,” Yuuri whispered in return, reaching up to cover Victor’s hand with his own. “I cannot withdraw from what he decides. He is a god that is walking amongst us humans. How could I defy that?”

The pity in Yuuri’s voice was real, and that hurt Victor the most. Yuuri wanted to stay. After everything they had been through, after all the things they had said to one another, the good and the bad, Yuuri wanted to stay.

But he could not, for a god in human form demanded him as his sacrifice.

Victor smiled sadly. “How could you possibly defy that,” he murmured, turning his head to press the gentlest of kisses to Yuuri’s palm. “I guess I should not be the one to make demands. All of this is my fault.”

Yuuri, however, shook his head. “It is not your fault that you have been born into a certain system.”

“But I should have changed the system a long time ago,” Victor replied. “I did not. Because leaving things as they were was the more comfortable choice. I should not be surprised at Yura asking me questions that make me feel uncomfortable, considering the fact that I have contributed to the status quo.”

Yuuri brushed his thumb across Victor’s cheekbone, a feature of his beautiful face that the young teacher had admired so many times. “But it is never too late to start thinking about changes,” he said softly. “Even if they might not affect us anymore, they might be lifechanging for the ones to come when we’re long gone.”

Victor reached up and covered Yuuri’s hand cupping his cheek with his own, intertwining their fingers. There it was again, the wisdom in Yuuri that he had always admired. Where Victor was stubborn and quick to act and speak, Yuuri was thoughtful and considerate.

Yuuri was his better half – not in the same way that Galina had been, but in a different way, more suitable for the person that he was now. He no longer was a young king in need of guidance.

He needed Yuuri. The one person he could not have.

The singing of the monks changed to a gentler tune, marking the nearing end of the worship ceremony.

“Will you dance with me one last time, my Yuuri?” Victor asked quietly, bringing Yuuri’s hands up to his lips. “I know there is no music. I know this is highly inappropriate in a place like this. But I cannot… I cannot let you go without holding you one last time.”

Yuuri looked at him, his big, brown eyes shimmering in the light of the torches illuminating the hallway, the sadness in them so clear that Victor wanted to hold him in his arms and never let him go again. Together, they could defy destiny, could they not?

“I thought you would never ask,” Yuuri whispered and leant into Victor’s touch, wrapping an arm around his neck and resting the other hand on Victor’s chest, right above his heart.

They did not need music to dance, and they never had. There was only the music they created with their bodies as they moved together, barely swaying as they held onto each other for the very last time. Outside the worship hall, it began to snow, the flakes gently covering everything they could find. A few found their way through the archways, landing on their shoulders. Victor chuckled as one landed right on Yuuri’s nose, leaning in to kiss it away. Yuuri closed his eyes at the touch, more intimate than all of the kisses and touches they had shared before.

“Yuuri…” He heard Victor whisper, his voice barely audible despite being so close.

“Kiss me,” Yuuri breathed, not opening his eyes.

And Victor obeyed.

The kiss was everything Yuuri could have ever possibly hoped for, so full of love and longing that it left no doubt about Victor’s true feelings for him. Never before had something as simple as a kiss set his heart on fire, bringing light into the darkness, assuring him of the love that was only meant for him.

And Yuuri knew that the cruellest twist of fate was that none of this would ever come to him again. That none of this was meant to last.

“If I don’t let you go now, I will never be able to leave,” Yuuri whispered sadly, his fingers curling into the fabric of Victor’s shirt. He had pulled away barely enough to speak, their foreheads still touching.

“I wish you didn’t have to,” Victor said, his fingertips brushing Yuuri’s cheek. “But promise me… promise me you will have a life you choose for yourself. Promise me you won’t ever lose your faith in yourself again.” He kissed Yuuri once more, pleadingly. “Can you do that for me, my Yuuri?”

Yuuri shivered. “I c-can try…”

“No, my Yuuri,” Victor shook his head as if not wanting to hear any of it. “Promise me. Promise me that you’ll be happy, promise me that you’ll live your life to the fullest, that you don’t live to regret a single thing, that you… that you will be so happy that your heart overflows with joy and-“

Yuuri’s eyes had begun to fill with tears again, and he buried his face in Victor’s chest before they could fall, his body shaking with the force of the sadness that came over him. And Victor held him close, firmly in his embrace, two lovers that were unwilling to let go, to lead a life without the other.

They did not know that from the shadows, a little boy was watching, his young eyes looking at them in awe. They did not know that many years later, this boy that had become king would write about this scene in his memoirs. That he had been too young to define it as such back then, but that he had witnessed his father’s heartbreak as he danced for the last time with the man that he loved.

 _Fate_ , the boy turned king would write, _is a cruel force, but a necessary one. It is what keeps the universe going, what holds it together, and what shapes our lives like nothing else. But to fate, one must not surrender, for the greatest gift of humankind is the ability to make a choice. My father and his lover made a choice that day, a choice I was not aware of._

_But I could feel the impact of it, for my father was never the same again._

* * *

 

Kyoto was much louder than Yuuri had remembered it.

In many ways, it was like Russia’s capital with its narrow streets, the countless shops, the tea houses, markets, merchants, the children running around and the foreigners trying to find their way in this chaos. They stopped at the most unfortunate places, blocking the ways with their luggage as they tried to read their maps and dictionaries. And the people of Kyoto, far humbler and a lot calmer than the average Russian, would patiently help them out, only to sigh in relief once the foreigner was out of the way.

Yuuri witnessed all of this every single morning on his way to the palace. To his new workplace.

The palace had offered him rooms at court to live in, but he preferred to stay with his family who had welcomed him back home with both joy and confusion. Yuuri had announced his return in a letter, but he had not given them the details – he would leave that to Phichit, who had moved in with them again as well.

The less he spoke of Russia, the better, Yuuri thought.

He could not have been more wrong.

There were, after all, reminders everywhere. It was in the silence of Otabek, for example. The boy was still one of the quiet sort despite giving answers every now and then. But Yuuri knew that Otabek was mad at him for leaving Russia, causing him to leave Yuri. It was not that Yuuri had not given him a choice. In fact, Victor had offered to take Otabek in and raise him together with his children, but Otabek had wanted to come with Yuuri. Back to Japan.

Phichit had advised Yuuri to give him time. But for Phichit it was not easy either. Yuuri did not miss the fact that his friend checked for letters every single day, hoping for some lines from Christophe Giacometti. But sending letters from Russia to Japan and back again took time.

Victor never wrote to Yuuri, and it was good that way.

Or so they told themselves at night, when neither of them was able to sleep.

Another reminder was the visit of Guang Hong and Leo, who had successfully made it to Japan with the money that Yuuri had given him. Fortunately, Mari’s husband had not doubted their story for a second and even if he had, his wife would have taught him a lesson – Yuuri was sure about that. Guang Hong and Leo now worked for Mari’s husband, their education allowing them to make an honest living for themselves. It had been good to see them again, alive and happy.

But they were also a reminder of what had destroyed things between him and Victor, and Yuuri was glad when they departed again.

Yuuri buried himself in his work at court, and of work there was indeed a lot. Being the secretary of the Emperor Katsutame was a high honour, and Yuuri found himself spending a lot of time in the company of the god turned human. Upon his arrival at the palace, the emperor had welcomed him graciously and had promptly asked him countless questions about his adventures in Russia. Yuuri had answered all questions patiently and in great detail, hoping that it would satisfy the emperor.

Over time, Yuuri came to realise how different the Japanese court was from the Russian court. It was stiff, ruled by ceremonial affairs and strict regulations. Everything was set in stone – when to bow, when to speak, yes, even when to think and when to breathe. And although all of this was part of Yuuri’s Japanese heritage, he found it hard to assimilate again, after experiencing the much more relaxed ways of the Russian court. Walking right next to Victor, with his head held high. Speaking to Yakov casually in a hallway between council meetings. Exchanging anecdotes with servants, running after children that had managed to escape their mothers.

None of this ever happened at the Emperor’s court.

There, everything was proper, and quiet, and in order.

His parents did not ask many questions, although they were sure that something must have had happened – for Yuuri was quieter than before, taking long walks in the garden of their estate in the company of the new family dog that Yuuri had called Vicchan.

Phichit chose not to comment on it.

* * *

 

“Yuuri,” Toshiya said one afternoon as they sat together in the garden, enjoying a cup of tea in the light of the winter sun. “I know you don’t want to speak of Russia, but I need to know more about the boy.”

Yuuri threw a glance at Otabek who sat on the other end of the patio with a book he had bought him on the market at some point.

“If you want to have him educated here – of which I approve, of course – then I need to know more. The schools will not take him without-“

“I know,” Yuuri replied softly. “But he won’t even tell me. I only know that his name is Otabek. And that he killed the man that killed his parents.”

Toshiya nodded understandingly. “But how is it that he speaks Japanese? That he knows how to write not only hiragana but also kanji? And the way he speaks, well, when he speaks, is not the way of a commoner.”

Yuuri had thought about that as well, for Otabek’s choice of words, whenever he did choose to speak, was careful and told of a background that was anything but ordinary.

“I wonder all these things as well, Otō-san,” Yuuri said. “I wish I knew. But as long as Otabek does not want to tell us, we can’t know for sure. He said that he might talk about it, one day. When he is older, perhaps.”

Toshiya ran a hand through his hair with a sigh before reaching for his tea again, taking a small sip, watching as Otabek rose from his cushion with his book held tightly to his chest like a treasure.

“There was a family in Osaka once,” he murmured. “A Russian ambassador and his wife were murdered. Their murderer was found dead later, but their son remained missing.”

Yuuri eyed his father suspiciously. “Do you think…”

“As you said, we cannot know for sure, unless Otabek tells us,” Toshiya said. “The name of the ambassador was… Altin, I believe?”

Yuuri opened his mouth to reply as Otabek suddenly tripped over his own feet, the book falling from his hands and to the floor with a loud ‘thump’.

“Otabek!” Yuuri quickly got to his feet to help him up. “Are you alright?”

But Otabek did not take the hand that Yuuri offered him, staring at Toshiya instead, his eyes wide.

“Otabek?” Yuuri said softly, touching his shoulder as he began to understand. “Is… is Altin your last name?”

Otabek kept his eyes fixed on Toshiya, who regarded the boy with a thoughtful look. Yuuri swallowed, not sure what to say or do, not wanting to upset Otabek any further.

“I met Ambassador Altin once,” Toshiya said softly. “Five years ago. He was a good man. He always spoke of his little son. And how proud he was of him that he was already fluent in Japanese.”

Otabek’s fingers curled into fists, taking a shaky breath as he pulled himself up onto his knees.

“When he and his wife were killed, they searched the premises, but could not find their son,” Toshiya continued calmly. “Did you run away and hide in the streets?”

Otabek nodded barely noticeably. Yuuri watched wordlessly, moving to sit beside him.

“And you killed the man that murdered your parents?”

“I saw him in the street,” Otabek murmured, his voice barely audible. “I followed him and took the knife I had stolen from the butcher with me. I couldn’t let him get away.”

“Oh, Otabek,” Yuuri breathed and couldn’t help himself. He put his arms around Otabek, attempting to comfort him. “Why did you not tell the authorities? Why did you not-“

“I tried!” Otabek pressed out angrily, tears rolling down his cheeks. “But they wouldn’t listen! They thought I was a beggar! And a foreigner too!”

Yuuri lowered his gaze, his cheeks burning in shame about the behaviour of his fellow countrymen that he only knew too well. They were suspicious of anything foreign despite the emperor’s decrees, and the word of a foreigner mattered little to him. Especially if it was the word of a foreign child.

“You were very brave all this time,” Yuuri said quietly. “And I had no idea.”

Otabek swallowed thickly, leaning into the embrace like the child that he was, whilst trying to pull himself together at the same time. Toshiya regarded the two thoughtfully.

“And when you met Yuuri on the ship, you trusted him for some reason.”

Otabek averted his gaze, a light blush appearing on his cheeks. “Because he was kind,” he mumbled, as if ashamed to admit that he had felt drawn to the man and his companion who had given him sweet treats behind the captain’s back.

“Kindness takes you far in life,” Toshiya hummed thoughtfully. “Even to Russia and back. Wouldn’t you agree, Yuuri?”

Yuuri did not know what to say to that.

* * *

 

It was incredibly quiet in the emperor’s study, despite the large number of courtiers that sat on the tatami mats and watched their monarch’s every move. But Emperor Katsutame did not even bat an eye at them. To Yuuri, the emperor had always been an impressive sight. Young, strong, intelligent, with fine facial features and a witty sense of humour that only those who worked close to him ever got to experience. At first, the emperor’s habit of making small, funny remarks had unsettled Yuuri, making him unsure of how to react, but soon he had learnt that the emperor only meant to lighten the mood that became stiff so very easily in these halls.

As Emperor Katsutame’s secretary, Yuuri had one of the most wanted seats in the room, close to the monarch with his very own writing desk. The emperor himself sat on a dais with an armrest beside him as well as some tea in the most delicate cups on a small table. Audiences like these usually followed the same procedure every single day, with Yuuri reading out the correspondence to the emperor and taking notes about what he wished to reply. The emperor never wrote his letters himself, for the task was beneath him. The only exception was poetry.

And, truth be told, poetry was the exception in everything in this so heavily regulated court of Japan.

Yuuri enjoyed his work, and he was grateful for the position. It was a great honour, not only to him but also to his family. From now on, the name Katsuki would forever be connected with prestige and reliability. And that had to mean more than the occasional boredom that Yuuri felt.

And it had to mean more than the sting to his heart each time he had to read out a letter written by Victor.

Yuuri had not been aware of the ongoing correspondence between Russia and Japan, but it seemed that Victor and the emperor frequently exchanged letters. The first time Yuuri had opened one of Victor’s messages he had almost fallen off his cushion at the very familiar sight of clumsily written kanji. Victor also had the habit of writing in terribly unreadable hiragana instead of kanji whenever he forgot about them – or whenever he had probably been too lazy to get up to grab the dictionary of kanji that Yuuri had gifted him at some point.

And the fact that Victor used the majestic plural in his letters was something that Yuuri first had to get used to.

But personal feelings had no place here.

And so, Yuuri read Victor’s letters out loud as if his heart were not weeping with every word.

Once more, one of Victor’s letters had arrived, and Yuuri had broken the seal without hesitation. He sat still on his cushion, his voice calm and composed as he read the surprisingly long letter that Victor had written. In the last letter, Victor had been informed about the recent outbreaks of certain diseases and how the Japanese government tried to stop them from spreading.

_“We are pleased to hear that the outbreaks of terrible sickness have been successfully limited to only a handful of villages, although it still breaks our heart that there will be children affected. We, the king, feel with the mothers of Japan, as we have already lost some of our own, and we would never wish this pain upon anyone else.”_

Yuuri paused in his reading, swallowing thickly at the thought of Rozalina, the ever-smiling princess that had been Victor’s everything. And of course, there were the children that Galina had lost, the ones Victor had never gotten to meet. He knew better than anyone else in this room that Victor’s letter spoke of genuine sympathy. Yuuri took a deep breath and continued to read out loud.

_“Furthermore, we would like to thank Your Majesty for the most generous gift of weaponry and ships that arrived at our port a few days ago. We would also like to thank Your Majesty for the scrolls and books. We have begun to study them with great interest. Our son, the crown prince, reads them with ease.”_

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile at that. Little Yuri had always been good at Japanese, his reading and writing skills far above the usual level of a child his age.

_“We cannot stress enough how thankful we are to have Japan as not only our ally, but as a friend. We therefore hope that your reign will be long and fruitful, and that, if the gods permit it, we will one day meet in person._

_With best wishes, and great admiration,_

_Victor the Divine._

_PS: …”_

Yuuri stuttered as his eyes fell onto the very last line of the letter, blushing deeply as he read what Victor had written there.

“Well?” The Emperor raised an eyebrow. “What else, sensei?”

Yuuri swallowed thickly, burying his hands in the fabric of his robe as he read out the final line.

_“We humbly ask you to send our kindest regards to your secretary, Katsuki Yuuri – for he is sorely missed at not only our court, but even more so in the bosom of our family. We hope that he is in good health despite the change of climate. Only too well we do remember how much Katsuki-sensei struggled at first with the Russian summer.”_

For a moment, it was incredibly silent in the Emperor’s study, the ever-curious courtiers staring at both monarch and teacher.

“We live in interesting times indeed,” Emperor Katsutame said and playfully opened his fan, breaking the silence. “When the Russian king is more concerned with the Emperor’s secretary than anything else.”

The courtiers laughed and Yuuri cast down his eyes in embarrassment, trying to ignore the glances of the courtiers and the pain in his chest. Victor would have known that Yuuri would be the one to read this letter to the Emperor, he thought as he read the final lines once more, admiring the careful way Victor had written the kanji of his name.

The audience continued, and Yuuri read out a few more letters from other important people to his emperor, making notes regarding the answers the emperor wanted to compose later. Every now and then, the emperor would ask the courtiers for their opinion, only to respond wittily and put the men back in their place. Yuuri remembered how Victor had always read his letters in private, with only Christophe next to him if he needed assistance. Later, Yuuri had been allowed to help him as well.

Although those moments had soon escalated, and the letters had been entirely forgotten as they kissed in the light of the lanterns.

Yuuri shook his head, pushing the thought aside.

All those things lay in the past. And it was high time to move on.

Later, after the courtiers had left, only the emperor and Yuuri remained in the study. The emperor seemed tired after the audience, but before Yuuri could ask him if he should leave as well, the emperor had picked up the teapot and refilled Yuuri’s cup.

“It is such tedious business, is it not,” Katsutame said and carefully put the pot back down before pushing the delicate cup towards Yuuri. Yuuri blinked in surprise before he was able to react, reaching for the teapot and refilling the emperor’s cup as well.

“Sometimes, I wish I could do these things in private,” Katsutame continued, gesturing at the pile of letters. “I do not understand why they have to be read out for the entire court to hear. What if I were to receive a secret love letter? Not that the empress would place them on this pile.”

He smiled fondly at the thought and brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip. Yuuri did the same, not sure what the emperor was trying to do by having tea with him. He was nothing but a servant, after all. A scribe. Nothing more.

“She does not write much these days, I’m afraid,” Katsutame sighed. “For she feels too sick. It is a burden she carries every time she is with child.”

Yuuri looked up in surprise. A pregnancy had not been announced yet, meaning that he was probably the first outsider to hear about it. “Congratulations, your majesty!” Yuuri said and bowed deeply. “What wonderful news. I hope Her Majesty will feel better soon.”

“I will tell her that you said that,” the emperor promised softly and reached for Victor’s letter, studying it attentively as if he had discovered its existence just now. “The Russian king has… how many children?”

“Twenty-three, your majesty,” Yuuri replied, immediately thinking back to the boys and girls. Each of them his pride and joy. Each of them his hope for the future.

“Look at that,” Katsutame murmured in amusement, still studying the letter. “He must be a busy man with such a large family. And he knows the names of all of his children, yes?”

Yuuri nodded. Oh, Victor would never dare to forget even one of them. “He loves them all equally, your majesty,” he explained. “But… he loved the Princess Rozalina the most.”

Yuuri knew that the emperor knew of her passing. He had been the one to help Christophe compose the letter, when Victor had been unable to do so.

Katsutame regarded Yuuri thoughtfully. “I remember when Prince Mitsuhide died,” he said softly. “I thought my heart would never heal. But my little son was not ready to live. The gods took him away for a reason. I know that now.”

The emperor put the letter down again and took another sip from the tea, Yuuri doing the same. It was strange, Yuuri thought, to sit in the emperor’s study and have tea with him, as if they were not master and servant, not god and human.

“Have you settled in well, sensei?” The emperor asked eventually. “Are you still living with your family?”

Yuuri nodded, bowing his head. “Yes, your majesty,” he answered.

“Did we not offer you rooms in the palace?”

“You did, your majesty,” Yuuri nodded. “And whilst I am very grateful for all the honours you have bestowed upon me and my family, I prefer living with them. It keeps my spirits up.”

“And yet, there is a deep sadness in your eyes.”

Yuuri froze in the midst of the obligatory bow he had been about to perform.

The emperor’s kimono rustled as he rose, his steps barely audible as he walked. Yuuri lifted his head ever so carefully, watching as the other man came to stand by the open doors that led out into the beautiful garden.

“I have received many letters from the Divine whilst you were in Russia,” Katsutame said softly. “And in every single one, there would be a paragraph about the teacher that we sent to him. He spoke of him with such tenderness and admiration that I found myself reminded of the letters that I wrote to my brother when I courted my empress.”

Yuuri said nothing, an ice-cold shiver running down his spine as he tried to comprehend what the emperor was trying to say. What if he condemned what he and Victor had had? What if this was just the speech that came before he would be kicked out of the palace for good? That there truly was no place at this court for a man like him?

“And then, I received this letter from Phichit Chulanont,” the emperor continued, watching the birds play in the nearby pond. “Never before had someone written such a personal letter to me and, frankly said, I still wonder how he managed to have it placed on my daily pile. I do not know the details of what has happened, as your friend explained that he possibly could not betray your trust to such an extent,” he added quickly, meeting Yuuri’s gaze. “But he believed that it could help you to offer you an alternative to Russia. To bring you happiness again. To me, it sounded like you were terribly homesick, but too shy to ask for permission to return.”

The emperor walked away from the open door and back to Yuuri again, coming to stand right before him. “I do not know what made you choose this alternative,” Katsutame said calmly. “But it does not bring you happiness.”

Yuuri shivered under his examining gaze. “Your majesty… I… I would never dare to-“

“I know,” the monarch interrupted him softly. “But I know the pains of a loving heart. And sometimes, it makes us do things we regret afterwards.” The emperor clasped his hands around his fan, and a small smile appeared on his youthful face.

“Nothing could be further from my mind than to keep lovers apart,” he said. “Therefore, I hereby release you from your duties as my secretary. Go back to Russia and find your happiness there.”

Yuuri suddenly felt very, very dizzy. He immediately bowed his head again, in outmost submission to his emperor. “Y-Your majesty, t-this is too m-much, I…”

“Do I have to make this an order, sensei?” Katsutame asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Rise.”

Yuuri had no choice but to do as he was told. Slowly, he rose to his feet, begging that his knees would not betray him – he was a no-one, and someone like him was not worthy of standing in the presence of an actual god. But the emperor had demanded it, and Yuuri had to obey.

Katsutame regarded him with a long, thoughtful look.

“I hope the Divine knows what a gift we are making him by sending you to him,” he said eventually.

Yuuri had been called a gift before – by Victor, when he had been introduced to the children as their new teacher. But of course, the emperor meant it in a very different way.

Yuuri lowered his gaze. Of course, the emperor would immediately know that Yuuri had not just fallen in love with any Russian. But with the epitome of Russia. “I’m not worthy,” he admitted quietly. “And I never have been.”

The emperor raised an eyebrow and reached out, gently touching Yuuri’s arm. “If the Divine chooses you, then who are you to question it?”

He let go of him again and made his way towards the door, a clear sign that their audience was over. And with it, Yuuri’s career as his secretary.

At least he would leave with honour, he thought.

“Ah, one more thing,” the emperor said suddenly and came to a halt, turning around once more. “Regarding your replacement. Do you have any recommendations?”

Yuuri blinked. “I…” He quickly went through all scholars he knew in his mind. “Minami… Minami Kenjirou.” Yes, the young man was capable of reading and writing in several languages, including Russian. And here, at court, he would surely thrive. “A-And… maybe Ji Guang Hong. For the Chinese correspondence.”

The emperor nodded. “So it shall be.”

And with that, the emperor was gone, and Yuuri was free.

* * *

 

Thick layers of snow covered Russia these days, and it seemed as if winter was determined to stay for as long as possible this time. For the children, of course, it was pure paradise to be able to play in the gardens, building snowmen and getting into snowball fights. For their mothers, it was a lot of work to keep them indoors at least for some time, if not just for their lessons. After Yuuri’s departure, a few Russian teachers had taken over, all of them competent enough, but none of them getting through to the children like their beloved sensei.

Yuri, however, no longer joined his siblings for the lessons. Instead, he would spend his mornings with his father, following him through the daily routine of a king until after lunch. Then, he would sit at his very own desk in Victor’s study, reading and doing his assigned homework.

It still amazed Victor that Yuri had accepted this routine without much protest.

After everything that had happened in the north, it seemed that Yuri had grown up a little. But that did not mean that he had stopped bombarding his father with difficult questions. More than once Victor found himself at a loss for words whenever Yuri wanted to know why things were the way they were.

In these moments, Victor longed for Yuuri’s advice that would never come.

Whenever it became too bad, Mila tried her best to distract him. They would play various board games, go for walks with Makkachin. At one point, she had even helped him dress up as a commoner and they had visited an evening market in the city together. It had reminded Victor of his days as a teenager, sneaking out to get drunk with Christophe.

But Christophe was not a big help these days, for he moped day and night because of Phichit Chulanont.

Victor understood him only too well.

“I’ve been thinking,” Mila said one evening after dinner, when they had retreated to the drawing room to play cards. “Since it’s winter, why don’t we take the whole family to the Frozen Manor?”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “It’s winter here as well,” he remarked. “And in case you haven’t noticed, every single pond is frozen.”

Mila sighed. “Victor. It’s a tradition that we go there every winter. The children keep asking about it as well. And besides, I think it would do you good to get out of this place for a while. To see something different.”

“We were at the monastery.”

“Something where you are not constantly reminded of what has been.” Mila rolled her eyes, something she only did when they were alone. Never would she have dared to roll her eyes at Victor when others were watching. “You have been hiding in your study with Yura for weeks. Don’t think we don’t know what you’re trying to do. And you are also just a man, Victor. You need a break.”

Victor huffed, grabbing his cup of wine and hiding behind it as he took a sip.

“I mean it, Victor,” Mila insisted. “And it would mean a lot to the children. They love the Frozen Manor. And so do you.”

The Frozen Manor was a beautiful estate roughly three hours away from the capital, a place of refuge that he had built for Galina as a gift to their first wedding anniversary. They had spent happy days there, and even happier nights. Even after her death, he had often gone there with his family, the gardens perfect for the children to play in and the manor itself not too big, giving it an overall cosy atmosphere.

“Fine,” Victor murmured eventually and put the wine down again. “We’ll go there. You can tell the children.”

Mila smiled to herself. “I will,” she said and picked up her cards again. “Your turn.”

…

And so, the entire royal family left the capital in the midst of winter and travelled to the Frozen Manor. Whereas the children were excited the whole way and could barely be stopped from running through their holiday home once they had arrived, the king himself remained quiet and withdrawn. He took long walks with Makkachin through the forest behind the manor, down to the riverbank, where he would sit for hours, wrapped in heavy furs against the cold.

Yuri was not stupid. He knew that his father missed their teacher, was old enough to suspect that there was more to them than just ordinary friendship. At some point, he had asked Mila about it, but not even Victor’s favourite wife had been able to give him a sufficient answer.

Yuri supposed it was something only adults truly understood. Of course he had tried to speak to his father directly, but he had quickly learnt that Victor tried to avoid speaking about Katsuki Yuuri. In a way, he could understand his father. He missed him, just like he missed Otabek. But unlike his father, Yuri still exchanged letters with the person he missed. Otabek was Yuri’s source for news about his former teacher, and through his letters, he learnt that Katsuki Yuuri was not doing too well either, despite his new position.

He might have been only a child, but the crown prince knew heartbreak when he saw it.

* * *

 

“Come on, Katsuki, you’re better than this…” Yuuri muttered in an attempt to make himself braver than he actually was.

The horse in front of him only snorted, as if it could not believe the audacity to be woken at four in the morning by a human that would then not even get onto its back.

But that was where Yuuri was – in a stable near the port of the Russian city he had landed at, the stablemaster leaning against the doorframe behind him, watching in disbelief as the foreigner tried to talk himself into taking the reins. The moment Yuuri had arrived in Russia, he had realised that taking a carriage to get to Victor would be impossible. It seemed that the entire country was covered in snow. Hiring a carriage and, more importantly, a driver that was willing to take him through this inhospitable environment, would be impossible.

The only means of transport that he could get was a horse, and Yuuri had seriously begun to consider waiting for the snow to melt. But as Russian winters could go on for months – the history books told of winters that lasted three years – Yuuri realised that if he wanted to see Victor again, he had no choice.

“I’ll take him,” he said to the stablemaster and blindly reached for the reins, accidentally hitting the horse in the face. The horse tossed his head back in annoyance.

The stablemaster raised an eyebrow and took the money. “She’s a lady, y’know,” he said. “Where you goin’ anyway?”

Yuuri tried again, this time grabbing the reins and carefully leading the horse outside. It was not that he did not know a thing about horses. No, he had been taught how to care for and ride a horse as a child. He just did not like being around them.

“To Tuarsk,” he answered. It was the town near the Frozen Manor, where, as he knew, Victor would spend the winter with his family. It was a tradition that the royal family spent the winter months in this manor, and the children had told him about it many times. That was where he would find Victor – and where he would hopefully find peace again.

“Tuarsk,” the stablemaster hummed, following Yuuri outside. “The road’s been blocked by snow recently.”

“I believe this is the case for all of Russia,” Yuuri replied, looking the horse up and down. “But she’ll take me there. She… she looks strong.”

The horse gave him a look as if to say that yes indeed, she was strong, and that he should better never question her.

“Good luck, that’s all I’ll say,” the stablemaster said with a shrug and held the gate open for him.

Yuuri took a deep breath, then placed his hands on the saddle, and pulled himself onto the back of his horse.

* * *

 

The mare turned out to be as strong and sturdy as Yuuri had thought. Although the stablemaster had been right and the road to Tuarsk was blocked with snow, the horse kept going as if to say, I am a Russian horse, do you think I shy away from snow?

With a carriage he would have gotten stuck immediately, Yuuri thought to himself as he rode along the river beyond the city, still surprised that he had managed to get this far without fainting out of sheer fear. But the mare seemed to know that as long as she did not bother him, Yuuri would not bother her, and that as long as she got him safely to his destination, they would both be fine.

The sun would soon rise on the horizon and warm them up a little, but the cold crept deep into Yuuri’s clothing. He had put on the warmest coat he had been able to find in Japan, and had even bought a pair of boots and some gloves on the ship. And yet, the cold was merciless, and Yuuri wondered how Victor and the others did it. How did Christophe do it, who had grown up in a country much warmer?

How would Phichit do it?

Yuuri closed his eyes, thinking back to the moment he had told his family that he would return to Russia. His mother and father had smiled knowingly, Phichit had hugged him, and Otabek had wished him good luck. They had known it before Yuuri had admitted it to himself – that sooner or later, he would have to follow his heart.

Mari had been quite vocal about it, and had given him a firm pat on the head and the advice to “go and get some.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but blush at his sister’s remark even now, in the solitude of his journey.

But what if Victor did not want to see him?

What if Victor had moved on, and wanted to be with no one else but Mila?

Yuuri shook his head, pushing the thought aside. They had danced together, on their very last day together. They had danced without music, had held onto each other for dear life, begging the gods to grant them this moment only, only this little piece of happiness. They owned each other’s hearts, and there was no one else that Yuuri would ever love like this.

And still, he could not help but worry that Victor had moved on for good. That there was no longer a place for him in Victor’s life.

Tuarsk was a day’s ride away from the port where Yuuri had landed, and on his way, he came through several villages. For the first time, Yuuri saw how the Russian people actually lived. In many ways, they were like Japanese villages, busy and bustling with life. But Russians held themselves differently, Yuuri found as he bought something to eat from a baker around noon. They were cautious of him because he was foreign, but they were friendly enough, and kindly showed him the road that led to Tuarsk.

The road became narrower and the snow higher just as the forests became denser. But Yuuri was not afraid, knowing that as long as he stayed on the road, he would find his way. Victor had explained to him at some point – with quite some pride in his voice – that all streets in Russia never just ended, but that they all led to a city at some point. You could never truly get lost as long as you found a road to follow, and Yuuri put his hope into Victor’s promise of the past.

That somewhere, beyond these forests, he would find Tuarsk. And that near Tuarsk, he would find the Frozen Manor.

And Victor.

* * *

 

Lady Mila sighed softly as she walked through the snow, hiding her fingers in the thick sleeves of her fur coat. It had been a gift of Galina at the beginning of their most unusual friendship, when she had been barely sixteen years old and Galina a young queen madly in love with her king. At first, she had been cautious of the other woman that welcomed her so warmly. After all, she had been sent to be another wife of the man this woman loved, and therefore, she was a potential threat. But Galina had never seen her that way. Instead, they had become close friends.

Consequently, Victor had become her friend as well.

Mila knew that Victor had never loved her, and that he had made her his favourite wife after Galina’s death mainly to appease his courtiers and to have peace in his family again. But a different kind of love had developed between them, where companionship mattered more than romantic feelings. And above everything, Victor respected her as a person in her own right. Never had he touched her – or any other man or woman in his sanctuary – without explicit consent. He respected her wish of not wanting children of her own, and was content with their relationship as it was.

For years, he had been content. Then, Katsuki Yuuri had come along.

And as Katsuki Yuuri had disappeared again, he had taken Victor’s happiness with him.

Mila turned around the corner, stepping out of the forest onto the road that led up to the gates of the manor.

* * *

 

“I can assure you, I am Katsuki Yuuri!” Yuuri sighed as he tried to explain to the guard at the manor gates who he was and why he had come. But the man, a guard that Yuuri had never seen around before, raised an eyebrow in clear disbelief.

“Any Nip could say that!” He barked. “Now get away from the king’s residence before I set the dogs on you!”

“I beg you to tell his majesty that I am here!” Yuuri cried back. “Or anyone else! They will recognise me, I swear! Why do you think I speak Russian?”

“How the hell should I know!” The guard barked and grabbed his sword. “Now get-“

“Sensei?”

Never had Yuuri been so relieved to hear this voice.

“Lady Mila,” he breathed, turning around on the spot and hurrying over to the young woman. She was wrapped in a heavy fur cloak to protect herself from the cold, but her nose and cheeks were reddened, as if she’d just returned from a walk in the snow.

“My god, it is you!” Mila gasped and rushed to meet him, grasping him by the shoulders. “I thought my ears were betraying me! What are you doing here?”

Yuuri could not help but hug the woman tightly. “I… I just…” He swallowed thickly. Only then it dawned on him that perhaps his presence might not be wanted by Victor’s women. That they would want to see him gone again, so that they could have him all to themselves again.

But Mila just smiled. “You just had to come back to him again,” she said softly and squeezed Yuuri’s hands. “That means my prayers have been answered.”

Yuuri blinked. “You…”

“What, did you think we wanted to see you gone?” Mila asked and began to laugh. “Oh, sensei.”

Yuuri blushed in embarrassment. “I thought that… that without me…”

“Sensei.” Mila kept holding his hands firmly in hers, and the way she looked at him allowed no further doubt. “Victor needs you as much as you need him. And no one, especially not us wives, would ever get in your way.”

“But you…” Yuuri did not know what to say. They were Victor wives, the women depending on him, their families counting on being in the king’s favour. And who was he, if not an intruder? A foreigner, on top of that?

Was he not everything that Georgi had said, everything that Georgi had wanted to see gone?

Mila seemed to know what he was thinking. “Victor loves you,” she said. “And he has loved only once before in his life. With you, he became the person he used to be again. If not even a better one.”

She let go of his hands and called for the nearby guards, exchanging a few words with them in fast Russian. The guards nodded and took the reins of Yuuri’s horse, leading the mare away.

“She’ll be taken care of,” Mila said then, turning back to Yuuri. “Victor is in the forest behind the manor. Follow the path over there and you will come to a riverbank. He will be there.”

Yuuri nodded, looking at the path behind Mila that led deep into the forest. If he only followed her footsteps, he would find Victor at their end.

For the first time in months, Yuuri could feel the excited, yet anxious flutter of his heart.

“Thank you, Mila,” he said softly. “For everything.”

Mila gave him a gentle smile and stepped aside. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

For months, Yuuri had wondered what it would feel like to be near Victor again – to have him within reach. To see him, to be able to touch him, to hear his voice.

He found that nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of finding Victor the Divine at the end of the snowy path, sitting on a bench under a tree by the river, his beloved dog Makkachin at his feet.

Yuuri stood quietly at the end of the path, taking in the appearance of his beloved. Victor was dressed in a heavy fur cloak, just like Mila. His eyes were closed, his head resting against the stem of the tree behind him, as if he were asleep. Only the hand on Makkachin’s head, scratching the dog behind her ears, showed that he was awake. There was no jewellery on him, no, not even a single golden ring ornamented his pale, slender fingers.

It was a moment of quiet contemplation that Yuuri had stumbled upon, and he found that Victor had never looked more beautiful, more divine, than he did now. Far from the palace, in solitude with his dog, he almost seemed like a commoner.

Yuuri took a deep breath, and took a few tentative steps towards him, the snow muffling their sound.

Makkachin turned her head, shifting and her tail wagging in excitement as she let out a happy whine.

“Quiet, Makka,” Victor murmured, but his eyes remained closed. Yuuri kept walking, grateful that Makkachin had not rushed to greet him, until he finally came to stand before Victor. Once more, he took in his appearance; the flawless pale face, the fine cheekbones, the silver hair that Yuuri had always loved to run his hands through. His mouth, his lips that Yuuri longed to kiss again.

And so, Yuuri sank down to his knees, and carefully placed his hand on top of Victor’s.

Victor’s eyes opened at once.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, as if they were frozen in time, with only their eyes to convey what they wanted to say. Neither of them moved, Yuuri being too afraid of what might come out of him if he dared to say a word. And Victor, his beloved Victor, was looking down at him in awe, as if he were sure to have ascended to Heaven.

“Yuuri?” he whispered, his voice cracking with the first syllable.

Before Yuuri knew what was happening, he found himself in Victor’s arms, for the king had slipped off the bench and down to the ground, into the snow. And then, finally, Yuuri realised that his beloved was crying.

“V-Victor…” He breathed, wrapping his arms around his neck and bringing them closer together.

“You’re here,” Victor whispered, the sound of his sobs breaking Yuuri’s heart, reminding him of sadder days. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Yuuri said quietly, pulling back ever so slightly to look at Victor. Reaching up, he wiped away a few of his beloved’s tears. “I’m here, Victor.”

“You came back,” Victor breathed, cupping Yuuri’s cheeks carefully as if being afraid of breaking him. “You came back.”

“I came back,” Yuuri whispered, leaning into Victor’s touch and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. All the worries that had tormented him on his way, the fear that Victor would not want to see him again – all of it was gone the moment Victor had pulled him into his arms, the moment Victor began to cry for him. The moment Victor began to return the kiss, searching for more, showing his unwillingness to let go ever again.

And Yuuri gave in, holding onto his beloved and kissing him as if the rest of the world did not exist.

When they broke apart again, neither of them spoke. Victor nuzzled Yuuri’s hair, caressing him so tenderly that his touch sent the most wonderful shivers down his spine. But Yuuri did not want to move ever again. He wanted to stay here, in his lover’s arms, and listen to his heartbeat.

They knelt there for what seemed like an eternity before Victor finally began to speak again, his voice quiet and broken, as if not daring to hope.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?”

Yuuri sighed in content, snuggling further into Victor’s chest, breathing in his sweet, soothing scent.

“Then wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be in Japan from the 24th of September to the 9th of October, which means I won't be able to write!


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I've spent 2 wonderful weeks in Japan, and even got a new idea for a new story! The first chapter is already up, and I hope that I'll see some of you reading that one as well!  
> But first - here is the new chapter! Just to let you know, I'm terrible at writing smut. But this chapter is more to make the story of Victor and Yuuri complete. 
> 
> After this chapter, there will be an epilogue. But for now, enjoy!

**Fourteen**

* * *

 

The air of the night was cool on Yuuri’s skin, sending the most pleasant shivers down his spine. Victor’s dressing gown was far too large on his smaller frame, and so were his slippers. They barely protected him from the cold winter air out here on the balcony, but at the moment, it was the most comfortable that Yuuri had ever been.

Right after arriving at the manor, Victor had called for the servants and demanded rooms to be prepared for him, and a bath to be run as well, for Yuuri was, in Victor’s words “frozen to the core, and we cannot have you catch a cold, my beloved.” And Yuuri had indeed shivered greatly in his arms, not surprising after spending an entire day out in the cold and on the back of a horse. The servants, most of them the attendants that Yuuri knew already from the palace, had looked at him in shock upon his unexpected return, but had immediately rushed to do as they had been told.

And with the servants, the news that Katsuki Yuuri was back in Russia, and in the arms of the king, had spread through the manor like wildfire. Within minutes, the children came running to the hall, gathering around their beloved teacher in excitement. Yuuri had never been happier to tell them that yes, he was indeed staying, and not planning on leaving ever again. At that, the children had begun to squeal happily, and Yuuri had barely been able to remain standing on his feet when they tried to hug him all at once. Only Prince Yuri had held himself back, instead greeting his teacher with an accomplished bow before Yuuri pulled the boy into a hug and assured him that Otabek would soon come to join them.

The smile on Yuri’s face at that was something Yuuri would never forget.

But as quickly as the children had come, Victor had sent them back to their play rooms again and took Yuuri up a set of large stairs to his own chambers. Yuuri had seen little of the manor on the way, but he could tell that it was newer than the palace and also considerably smaller, but no less magnificent in its splendour. The colour arrangement was a more muted one, however, giving the manor a more homely atmosphere than the palace in the capital had.

A bathtub had been prepared for Yuuri behind a partition in Victor’s bedroom, filled with steaming hot water with added oils for the scent. Victor had sent all the servants out, determined to help Yuuri undress himself and then leave him alone to bathe, but Yuuri had held him back the moment Victor had tried to withdraw. “Don’t you ever leave me alone again,” he’d whispered against Victor’s lips. And Victor had obeyed. The bathtub had been too small for the two of them, so Victor had knelt beside him on the floor, holding Yuuri’s hand and trading kisses with him as his beloved warmed up in the hot water. He had left him only for a short moment to tell the servants that he demanded the most warming and most delicious dinner for his lover, causing Yuuri to groan and call after him that anything the kitchen made would be just fine. Of course, Victor would not have any of it, and sent the servants out with the order to bring him only the best before returning to Yuuri’s side by the bathtub, kissing him senseless.

Eventually, Victor had left him to go and change into something more comfortable as he was still wearing his outdoor garments. Just before Yuuri began to feel dizzy from the heat, he got out of the water and had wrapped himself into the dressing gown he had found hanging over the back of a nearby chair. The door to the balcony had been slightly ajar, and Yuuri had taken the opportunity to get some fresh air, and to cool his face, whilst waiting for Victor to return.

After the bath, the cold felt great against his skin, reminding him that this was real, that he was indeed here, in Russia. With Victor. And although his hair was wet, and parts of his skin exposed, Yuuri did not feel cold. On the contrary. He was the most comfortable he had ever been.

A pair of arms were wrapped around his waist, and Yuuri found himself pulled against the chest of his beloved, and kisses pressed against his neck. “You’ll catch a terrible cold out here, my love. Why did you think I put you into the bath?”

Yuuri closed his eyes, leaning into Victor’s touch. “I’m not cold,” he sighed softly. “Look, I’m steaming.” He raised his arm to prove his point, laughing as Victor pulled him backwards into the room and shut the door before kissing him deeply.

“I cannot allow you to ever become sick, my love,” Victor hummed against his lips, moving his hands up to cup Yuuri’s cheeks. “I would hate to see you bound to a bed, coughing and sneezing.”

Yuuri leant further into his touch, wrapping his arms around Victor’s neck. “I’ve been quite frail as a child, perhaps, but not anymore,” he said softly, playing with the hair in Victor’s neck. “There is no need for you to worry. I have been never more comfortable than I am right now.”

Victor smiled at that, kissing him lightly on the lips. “I still cannot believe you’re here,” he admitted. “I fear that any second I will wake up and find myself in bed, all alone. And my heart still empty.”

Yuuri shook his head. “I won’t ever leave you again, Victor.”

“Vitya.”

“Huh?”

“Please,” Victor said, “call me Vitya. In Russian, we use diminutives, as you know. Vitya is mine.”

“O-of course,” Yuuri smiled and leant closer, their noses touching. “Vitya it is.”

A faint blush appeared on Victor’s cheeks.

“What?” Yuuri chuckled. “Do you like that?”

“More than I would possibly like to admit,” Victor chuckled and let go of Yuuri’s face, taking his hands instead. “Let us dine. You must be starving. Tell me, did you have anything to eat at all on your way here?”

“Just some bread,” Yuuri said, following Victor through the room to the sitting area by the fireplace where the servants had set up a table with food, most of it stews and hearty soups.

“Then you must try these,” Victor said, making Yuuri sit down before grabbing one of the bowls to fill it for him. “A speciality of this region, and perfect for the cold months of winter.” He pushed the bowl into Yuuri’s hands and sat down beside him, watching him like an excited child. Yuuri took the bowl and brought it to his lips, sipping the stew. It was delicious, filling his belly with exquisite warmth.

“It tastes amazing,” Yuuri smiled at Victor. “It reminds me of something my mother cooked once.”

“What a coincidence,” Victor said with humour. “My mother also cooked this kind of stew for me when I was little. Gosha and I loved it when…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

Yuuri took his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I know you do not want to talk about this now, but… rest assured that… you can always talk to me about these things, should you want to.”

“I know,” Victor said with a surprisingly steady voice, squeezing Yuuri’s hand. “It’s just difficult, even after… after a few months.”

“These things take time,” Yuuri said. “I was barely myself when I tried to adjust to my life in Kyoto. I knew that it would take me more than just a few months but I couldn’t… I couldn’t let go, I guess.”

Victor leant closer and kissed his temple. “I’m glad you didn’t. Although I’m… I’m surprised.”

“Surprised?” Yuuri pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “You thought I would forget you and just move on?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Victor said quickly and raised his hands in defence. “I thought that your emperor wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

Yuuri blushed at that, thinking back of his final conversation with Emperor Katsutame. “Actually, he was the one who told me to go,” he murmured. “I think he put two and two together when he read that letter you sent. You know, the one where you asked about me and my health.”

“Oh.” Victor blushed as well, as if embarrassed all of a sudden. “Yes, I… I hoped that maybe he would write to me about you.”

Yuuri laughed, wrapping an arm around Victor’s neck and cupping his cheek with the other. “Victor, I had to read all letters out loud to him and his courtiers,” he said, pecking his lips. “I don’t think that I ever blushed so hard before.”

“Oh.” Victor laughed nervously.

“And then his majesty said that we were living in interesting times, where a king was more interested in the wellbeing of a scribe than in politics.” Yuuri shook his head with a chuckle. “Katsutame is a smart man. He knew that I was unhappy. I believe if I had not left for Russia myself, he would have ordered me to.”

Victor wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s waist, pulling his beloved into his lap completely. “I guess I’ll have to send the emperor a long letter to express my gratitude, then,” he murmured, enjoying the feeling of Yuuri settling against him. “That he managed to talk sense into you.”

Yuuri gently brushed his nose against Victor’s. “You could have written to me,” he mumbled.

“I was afraid of what I might say to you,” Victor whispered in return. “That I would not be able to hold back from pouring out my heart to you.”

“But you can do that now.” Yuuri wound his arms around Victor’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder the way he always had when they had been still together, before everything had gone downhill. “You can pour your heart out to me, my love.”

He felt Victor’s arms tighten around him again, as if his lover was determined to never let him go again. Not that Yuuri did mind. As long as he had Victor’s arms around him, he would be fine.

“Not tonight,” Victor said eventually. “I just want to hold you now.”

Yuuri let out a gentle hum to show that he understood, and he was the last one to complain about that. Victor’s arms were warm and strong around him, protecting him from whatever could possibly come their way. It was a feeling of which Yuuri had thought he would never experience it again. But here he was, in the Frozen Manor, in Victor’s embrace.

And then, Yuuri’s stomach grumbled, and Victor pulled back with the declaration that he would not be satisfied until Yuuri had tried every single stew on the table. Yuuri knew better than to complain about that, and so, he stayed patiently on Victor’s lap and allowed him to feed him spoon after spoon of soup and stew. And every now and then, he would steal a kiss from his beloved, until both of them had forgotten about the food, and only had eyes for each other.

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered between kisses, his hands having long found their way up Yuuri’s bare thighs and under his dressing gown. “Will you lie with me?”

He pulled back ever so lightly, just barely enough to be able to catch their breaths and to look each other in the eye. An adorable blush had spread across Yuuri’s cheeks, his lips swollen from kissing and his eyes sparkling in anticipation.

“I know we never did that before,” Victor said, a little out of breath. “But I-“

“Yes.” Yuuri had closed the distance between them again before Victor had the time to react, instinctively wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist and lifted him up, carrying him through the room to the bed waiting for them on the other side of the chamber. Only as Victor put Yuuri down again he broke the kiss, hovering above him on the mattress. His hand came up to cup Yuuri’s cheek, his thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

“Are you alright?” Yuuri breathed softly, his eyes following Victor’s movement.

Victor nodded. “I’m just admiring your beauty.”

Yuuri blushed on cue, always having been easily affected by such words, especially when they came from Victor.

“You always say such scandalous things,” he murmured.

“Why, is it a scandal to proudly admit that I’m so enchanted by you?” Victor kissed him gently on the lips. “If you only could see yourself. With your skin all rosy from the bath, glowing in the light of the candles, the sparkle in your eyes… you are incredibly beautiful, my Yuuri. Inside and out.”

Yuuri did not have time to react to Victor’s statement this time, for the king kissed him again with more urgency this time, with a hunger that Yuuri had felt between them before, but never had they dared to follow what this kind of hunger demanded. It made them forget the world around them, made them shed the rest of their clothes, and hold onto each other for dear life.

“Yuuri,” Victor breathed between kisses and touches, his hands moving to the most forbidden places. “Can… Can I…?”

Victor did not have to compose the full question.

“Yes,” Yuuri whispered, arching his back under Victor’s touch. From somewhere on the bedtable, Victor had produced a small jar, dipping his fingers into it before working on Yuuri and oh, it took only a few seconds for Yuuri to lose himself to the feeling. With Phichit, it had been nothing like this, their unexperienced fooling around at night only the antics of teenagers that did not know where to go with this unknown, new energy. But nothing about Victor was unexperienced, nothing of the act was unknown to him, and Yuuri definitely not the first man in his bed.

But the first that mattered.

Yuuri groaned, and for a second he was about to remind Victor to be gentle with him, but the moment they became one, he knew there would never be need for this. Victor held him as if he were made of glass, as if he were the most valuable thing in the world, as if a single glance alone could make him burst. And Yuuri clung to him, his arms tightly wrapped around his lover as they moved together; the only sounds in the room being their moans and their whispered confessions. Victor’s fingers dug into his flesh, leaving bruises on his hips that would take days to fade away, but Yuuri would wear them with pride. For they were the marks that Victor had left on his body, claiming him as his for good.

And then, without a warning, it was over, pure bliss washing over them as their hips snapped together one last time, and they reached the heights of Heaven with each other’s names on their lips.

Yuuri did not know how much time had passed when Victor finally lifted himself off him to settle at his side. Their breathing was still heavy, their limbs still shaking, with no guarantee, it seemed, that they would ever be able to walk again. Yuuri turned over and buried his face in Victor’s shoulder, kissing his neck.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Victor nuzzled his hair, his hand coming to rest in Yuuri’s nape. “And I love you,” he whispered in return.

They lay together in silence for what seemed like hours, not saying a word, only exchanging caresses and gentle kisses. The fire in the fireplace had gone out a while ago, and the temperature in the room had begun to drop. Only as Yuuri began to shiver, Victor moved to do something about it. There was no need to call for a servant at this hour, they found, and Yuuri watched from the bed as Victor, naked as the day he was born, moved to kneel on the carpet by the fireplace and got to work. It was fascinating, Yuuri found, to watch Victor arrange the logs and bring the flames back to life. A small laugh escaped Victor as the fire started again, and he came back to bed, slipping under the warm covers and kissing down Yuuri’s chest to his stomach.

“V-Victor!” Yuuri laughed, his muscles twitching under Victor’s hands that were caressing his sides. “What are you doing?”

Victor laughed against Yuuri’s skin and wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s waist as he let his chin rest on Yuuri’s soft belly, looking up at his beloved thoughtfully. “You look lovely from this angle.”

“Right,” Yuuri huffed. “With three double chins.”

“Not a single one in sight,” Victor assured him and pressed another kiss to his stomach, letting out a deep, heavy sigh. “Oh my… I don’t know how to say this…”

Yuuri frowned, pushing himself up on his elbows. “How to say what?”

Victor was quiet for a moment, burying his face in Yuuri’s belly, his eyes closed. Only as he felt Yuuri tense up further under him, he raised his head once more. Yuuri was looking at him anxiously, his brown eyes filled with confusion and worry.

“Will you be my consort, Yuuri?” Victor asked softly.

Yuuri stared at him.

“Your…” To say more Yuuri was unable to, his mouth having gone dry at Victor’s question.

Victor took Yuuri’s hand, kissing his palm. “I am asking for your hand in marriage, my love,” he whispered. “To be my husband, until death do us part.”

Yuuri blinked through the tears that had begun to form in his eyes, overwhelmed with emotion. “But… how could I possibly…”

“There have been male consorts before, if you are worried about that,” Victor smiled. “My great-great-grandfather had a male consort. It is rare, but we would not be the first.”

“But…” Yuuri swallowed thickly. “Galina…”

“During a king’s reign, the title of queen can be given only once,” Victor explained, nuzzling Yuuri’s hand. “So yes. Galina will always be my queen. But you, Yuuri…” He pulled himself up to cup Yuuri’s cheek. “You are the one who makes me feel like myself again. You are the one who brought light into my darkness when I felt lost and alone. I cannot imagine, no, I do not want to live a single day without your love. So I beg you, my Yuuri, from the bottom of my heart.” He leant closer, kissing his lips. “Will you marry me?”

It had never been easier to say yes.

* * *

 

They got married on the first day of Spring, just as the snow had finally melted, allowing the sunlight to warm the ground beneath their feet. The ceremony was small and simple, held in the Royal Temple with only the priest and their closest families as their witnesses. But outside the palace gates, the people of Russia were celebrating the return of the man that had saved their king, who had brought him back from the brink of madness.

None of this did matter to Victor and Yuuri anymore.

They were looking ahead now, ready to face the future, with the other man’s love and the blessing of the gods on their side.

* * *

 

“What,” Yuuri asked, staring at the monstrous, strange thing that stood in the middle of their drawing room and Victor at its side, “is this?”

“A camera!” Victor exclaimed with a smile, gesturing at the object in excitement. “Isn’t it amazing?”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow and closed the door behind him, carrying his books over to the desk by the window. “A camera?”

“Yes!” Victor was bouncing around the thing as if he had just found the holy grail. “Do you remember when the British ambassador was here, and he showed us the pictures of London? They were all taken with a camera! And I just knew we had to have one!”

Yuuri made his way over to Victor, inspecting the object – no, the camera, with mild interest. “Victor, how much did this thing cost?” He asked carefully, but he already knew the answer.

“I have absolutely no idea!” Victor said cheerfully and danced around the camera, taking Yuuri’s hand and pulling him with him. “Look, you have to put your head under the cloth here, and then you look through here and then you remove the cover from the lens and the person or thing you’re taking a picture of has to stand still for some time and then you put the cover on the lens again and then you have to-“

“Victor, you’re forgetting to breathe again,” Yuuri chuckled and wrapped an arm around Victor’s waist, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “This camera is really interesting, but it must have been terribly expensive. What will the people say if they hear that you have bought something like that for yourself?”

“But it is not for myself!” Victor assured him. “I am planning to have lots of pictures taken of our beautiful kingdom. We can send them to our allies and friends abroad and show everyone how magnificent Russia is!”

“Victor.”

“But I have to admit that I was looking forward to taking lots of pictures of you especially when you’re coming out of the bath,” Victor murmured and blushed a little at the confession. “You’re so sweet, my Yuuri, having pictures of you to take with me anywhere would enlighten all of my days!”

Yuuri gently rubbed Victor’s side and took a longer look at the camera. It was typical of Victor to make purchases like this, finding something for his advantage in anything. “Fine. Keep the camera. But I insist that you take pictures of the children and of the court as well. Don’t just keep the camera to yourself.”

“That’s why I bought two!” Victor beamed. “One for the government, one for us!”

“Victor!”

And of course, Victor soon became what Mila jokingly called ‘the royal photographer’. No one at court was safe from him, courtiers and servants alike having to stand still for the king and his latest obsession. With every day, Victor’s collection grew: photographs of his children, holding their favourite toys. Mila, sitting on a bench in the garden in informal attire. Lady Alyona with her canvas stand. Otabek in a military uniform on his sixteenth birthday. Yuri, looking right into the camera, half of his face hidden behind his long, blonde hair. But most of the photographs showed the king’s consort – smiling fondly into the camera, wearing state attire, reading in the library.

Yuuri never had the heart to deny him.

Strangely, Victor was not too fond of having pictures taken of his own person. Perhaps it was Victor’s vanity that made him afraid of documenting his own aging process, or something else. Yuuri never found out. But the few pictures he managed to take of him in private he cherished, and kept in his bedside table, wrapped in silken cloth.

* * *

 

“Good, then. Mylords, I believe this is a draft we can work with,” Victor said, gesturing at the plans in front of them. “This will help the population of Russia immensely. A redistribution of our harvest has been needed for years. I expect this to be carried out immediately.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Christophe said from his seat beside him, handing the plans over to the ministers. “Then, we should continue with the question of the university funding. There have been reports of several cases of misuse in-“

But before Christophe could even reach for the papers, there was commotion outside the council chamber, and a moment later, Yuuri came into the room, carrying what seemed to be a bundle in his arms.

Immediately, everyone rose and bowed, but Yuuri had no eyes for them. “I must speak to you, immediately,” he said to Victor, sounding out of breath, and incredibly upset.

Victor immediately rose from his seat and followed his husband next door to his private study. Yuuri was still dressed in his warm coat that he had put on that morning when he had left to visit the schools in the capital, which meant that he had come to Victor straight after returning to the palace.

Victor shut the doors behind them, locking them to make sure they would not be disturbed before turning around to his husband.

“Yuuri, my love, what upsets you so?” Victor asked, reaching out to touch his cheeks.

“Victor, I…” Yuuri swallowed thickly. “She was out there, on the stairs of the temple, wrapped in this cloth, I couldn’t leave her there, I had to take her with me, Victor, I-“

“Yuuri, my love, what are you talking about?” Victor asked in confusion, just as Yuuri revealed what was in the bundle in his arms. There, wrapped in a brown cloth, slept a baby girl in Yuuri’s arms. It was very small, probably a newborn.

“Oh my god.” Victor rushed to the door and called for a servant. “The healer! Quick! And a midwife!”

He was back at Yuuri’s side immediately. “She was on the stairs of the temple, you say? Which temple?”

“The big one, near the courthouse,” Yuuri explained in distress. “I had just left the school there and we were going back to the carriage when I saw her. I couldn’t leave her there, Victor, I just couldn’t-“

“You did the right thing, my love,” Victor assured him and kissed his forehead. “You saved this little one’s life, I dare to say.”

A moment later, the healer rushed into the room, followed by the midwife. Victor had to drag Yuuri aside to let them examine the baby, Yuuri shaking like a leaf in his arms as the baby girl cried and cried. But the healer and the midwife stayed completely calm.

“The child is healthy, your majesty,” the healer said after a few minutes. “His royal highness got the child just in time.”

“Why would anyone do this?” Victor asked, soothingly rubbing Yuuri’s back. “In this weather? There are orphanages!”

“The orphanages are full, Victor,” Yuuri said quietly. “A teacher told me so today. Some of the children have to sleep in the schools because there is no space for them in the orphanages.”

“I am sure that the person who put the child there hoped for it to be found,” the midwife said.

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose. “The orphanages,” he murmured to himself. “I shall see to this problem immediately. In the meantime-“

“Victor, I beg you, let us take her in,” Yuuri said, grabbing his husband’s hands. “We can take care of her. With us, she will lack nothing, she will have the best life.”

Victor knew where this was coming from, aware of the fact that it bothered Yuuri to be unable to give him children. Of course, Victor had assured him again and again that he had more than enough children, and that he did not think that their relationship was lacking anything. But perhaps this was what the gods had been planning for them. A child that Yuuri could call his own.

“Of course, my love,” Victor said, and Yuuri’s eyes began to sparkle. “She shall be one of ours. You only have to name her.”

“Hiroko,” Yuuri said immediately. “After my mother.”

Victor nodded. “Princess Hiroko it is.”

* * *

 

Yuuri rubbed his eyes tiredly, wondering if he had married an overexcited child or a grown man for the at least tenth time on this trip. Again, Victor seemed to find it very hard to sit still, even in a carriage like this.

“Victor, you are making things very hard for the driver,” Yuuri warned him as Victor once more leant out of the window, much to the delight of the inhabitants of Kyoto, who cheered and waved at the foreign visitor.

“But look at them, how happy they are to see us!” Victor replied, gesturing at the window before waving again. “Yuuri, you have to wave back!”

“I would, but that would mean falling out of the window!” Yuuri gave back and quickly held onto the walls of the carriage as they drove through a particularly uneven street. Victor fell back onto his seat and pulled Yuuri into his arms, kissing him all over.

“I’m so terribly excited,” he declared. “To be in Japan! Oh, what an honour!”

Yuuri chuckled. “Victor, you are a king. Of course you would be invited to Japan at some point by the Emperor.”

The invitation had arrived in Russia about one year ago, delivered to their table in the middle of dinner. Yuuri had been sitting with little Hiroko on his lap, feeding her some fruit, as the servant had come in with the letter on a silver platter. Yuuri had recognised the paper immediately.

“A letter from the emperor!” He exclaimed, rising from the chair and grabbing the letter from the tray. “Look, Hiroko, we have a letter from the Emperor!”

The little girl squeaked and reached out for the paper, and Yuuri sat down to read what his Emperor had written. With every line, Yuuri’s smile grew wider, and he had kissed and cuddled his daughter happily before running to tell Victor the good news.

And now, they were actually here.

“But I’m here with you!” Victor exclaimed. “You can show me everything! And you can show me where you grew up! Oh, I want to see it all! Did your mother keep your toys? We could take some of them back home with us for the little ones if she does not mind. Yura had my toys, you know?”

“How about we arrive first, hm?” Yuuri asked and patted Victor’s chest in an attempt to calm him down a little. “You are nervous. I know you.”

Victor’s face fell. “Is it so obvious?”

“You are worried about your Japanese,” Yuuri said softly. “But there really is no need. Remember, you and I are often having long conversations in Japanese.”

“But if I make mistakes whilst speaking to you, I’m not losing my face,” Victor groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“The Emperor is a kind man,” Yuuri assured him, squeezing his hand. “He will be delighted alone by the fact that you made an effort to learn his language. And I’ll be there with you.”

Victor sighed heavily and pulled his husband into his arms. “Oh, what would I do without you.”

Yuuri huffed. “Well, you would keep forgetting to put on your socks in the morning.”

“Yuuuuri!”

In the end, their visit to Japan was a great success. The bonds between Russia and Japan had been strengthened once more, and Victor managed to impress the entire court with his language skills so much that the courtiers and the Emperor were more than happy to forget about some of his mistakes.

And then, during the final feast before their departure, the Emperor took Yuuri aside, walking with him through the palace gardens for a private talk. The Emperor had aged well, Yuuri found, his face still as youthful as it had been when he had seen him last. In the end, the Emperor had only one question for Yuuri.

“Are you happy with him, sensei?”

Yuuri could not help but smile at the Emperor’s address. But he bowed his head nonetheless.

“I am the most happy,” he said. “And all thanks to you, your majesty. I will forever be in your debt.”

“Well,” Katsutame said in good humour. “Maybe a Japanese princess might be able to marry into Russia one day. Perhaps you could keep that in mind.”

* * *

 

Some whispered that the match between Prince Mikhail and Princess Aiko many years later had been the doing of the king’s consort. But it was a happy marriage, so no one truly bat an eye.

* * *

 

Never before had Yuuri seen Victor so angry.

Sometimes, of course, his beloved would lose his temper in the council room and cut his advisors down to size. But Victor never unleashed his anger in the presence of his family, only ever venting to Yuuri in the evenings when he needed to. Yuuri was always willing to listen and to give advice, or to just kiss his worries away and distract him if nothing else helped.

But now, Yuuri knew that there was little he could do to calm Victor down, for he had just been presented with an inconvenient truth that would not only shake him, but the entire nation to the core. Yuuri watched his beloved worriedly from his seat by the window, praying that this would end well in at least some way. But he doubted it – for father and son were glaring at each other, both of them stubborn and strong-minded, and it would take only one little spark to an explosion.

“I will not tolerate this,” Victor snapped, leaning over his desk. “You are not just any man, Yura! You are the crown prince and you have a duty to your people! To your country! And that includes getting married and producing an heir, whether you like it or not!”

“And what if I don’t want to be the fucking crown prince?!” Yuri cried out, his eyes filling with angry tears.

Yuuri drew in a sharp breath at his words, turning his head to look over at Victor. For the first time in years, his beloved seemed at loss for words. The king stared at his son in utter disbelief, as if he refused to trust his ears.

“What are you saying there, Yuri?” Victor asked, his voice dangerously calm, his eyes studying his son carefully from head to toe. “What is this about?”

Yuri took a deep breath, looking over at Otabek who stood by the door, calm and composed as usual. Victor followed his son’s gaze, his frown deepening on his forehead. But before the king could even open his mouth, the prince spoke again.

“I don’t want the crown,” Yuri said quietly. “I don’t want to be king.”

Yuuri immediately rose from his seat and moved between Victor and his son, placing a hand firmly on Victor’s chest before his husband could take another step around his desk.

“What on earth is this about?” Victor barked. “Where does that come from, all of a sudden?”

“This is not all of a sudden, father,” Yuri replied angrily, but he was shaking, not able to hide his fear of his father as well as he thought. “I… I do not want the crown because I’m not made to rule! I cannot live like you, sacrificing a part of myself for this burden! This is not what I want in life!”

“Not what you want in life?!” Victor shrieked and tried to get past Yuuri, but he was firmly held back. Then, his gaze fell on Otabek, who kept an eye on Yuri with clear worry in his eyes.

“This is your doing, is it not?” Victor barked. “You told him to give up his claim to the throne! To think that-“

“Otabek did nothing!” Yuri shouted, but Otabek bowed his head respectfully.

“Forgive me, your majesty, but I did no such thing,” he said calmly. “I would never interfere with the ways of the court. But no matter what Yura decides to do, I will stay at his side. In one way or the other.”

Victor blinked. “What is that supposed to mean, in one way or the other?” He demanded to know, his gaze flickering back to Yuri, who had blushed deeply.

Yuuri took Victor’s hand into his own. “Please, my love, stay calm,” he whispered warningly, worried equally about Yuri and Otabek as well as Victor in this situation.

Yuri turned around to Otabek, closing the distance between them and taking his hand.

“We wish to be married,” he murmured, barely audible. “To each other, and only to each other.”

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat before filling with joy, the urge to go and hug the boys that he had helped to raise becoming almost overwhelming. But he could not.

Victor stared at them for a long moment before closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath.

“I was patient with you,” he said quietly, and dangerously calm. “When you were seventeen, I did as you asked of me, Yura. I postponed a potential marriage as you claimed you were not ready. But now you are twenty-one. It is time that you accept your duties, given to you by the gods!”

“If the gods cared they would know that I am not fit to be king!” Yuri cried out, angry tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I let you have your fun!” Victor barked. “You are not a child anymore! Be an adult and face your duties!”

“Not everyone can be as lucky as you were!” Yuri yelled back. “You loved Mama! That’s why it was easy for you! And you love Yuuri! Don’t you get that I just want the same?!”

“Victor, don’t!” Yuuri said firmly as Victor made another step towards his son, his hand ready to strike. But at the same time, Otabek had moved forward, pushing Yuri behind himself despite being shorter.

The king glared at his son’s lover, his gaze briefly flickering at the prince.

“Get out of my sight,” Victor hissed. “Both of you. OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

“Come.” Yuri grabbed Otabek’s hand and pulled him with him. Victor turned away from them, walking back to his desk. Yuuri met the eyes of the prince, nodding reassuringly at him before the boys left the room for good, closing the doors carefully.

“How dare he,” Victor growled, flopping down at his desk and slamming his fist on the table surface. “How dare he to-“

“Victor, you are being unreasonable,” Yuuri interrupted him firmly and crossed his arms. “In fact, you are behaving like a child.”

Victor immediately stopped talking, looking at his husband in bewilderment.

“I am being unreasonable?” He repeated. “Yura is the crown prince! He has been prepared for this role his whole life. He has a duty!”

“He is the crown prince only because he happened to be your first born,” Yuuri said, sitting down on the edge of the desk. “Not because he chose it.”

“I did not choose my fate either,” Victor said, shaking his head. “But I did what was expected of me.”

“And how many times have you complained to me about this?” Yuuri reminded him, putting his hand on top of Victor’s.

Victor huffed, looking away.

“They love each other,” Yuuri said softly. “They want to be married to only one another. Yura knows that as the king, he would have to produce an heir with a woman. But he does not want that. He wants Otabek only. He loves him so, so much. And Otabek loves him.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Victor snapped.

Yuuri immediately withdrew his hand, moving away from Victor. “Don’t speak to me like that _ever_ again.”

Victor’s face fell, realising what he had done. “Yuuri, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t mean to, because you love me,” Yuuri interrupted him. “And this is what Yura and Beka feel for each other. They feel just like we do. And they would do everything to be with each other. You heard them. Otabek is willing to accept all consequences. He would stay at Yura’s side even if he had to marry a woman first. He would even stay with him if you cast him out of the family. That is how much he loves him.”

Victor said nothing to that, lowering his head and rubbing his face with a heavy sigh. Yuuri rose and went to pour his husband a drink, some strong wine that always did the trick and soothed his nerves. Victor accepted the glass without question, taking a few sips to calm down whilst Yuuri massaged his shoulders.

They had seen it coming. Or, at least, Yuuri had. He still remembered the day he had been out in the gardens with Makkachin for a walk, only to stumble upon the fifteen-year-old prince and his friend, kissing in the shade of a tree. Yuuri had pretended not to see them, but had left the garden with a smile on his lips. Of course he had not told Victor, wanting to give Yuri the chance to tell his father in person. In the end, Victor had walked into the boys making out behind the curtains at a feast. To Yuuri’s surprise, Victor had merely told them to take their business elsewhere the next time, and then had reminded Yuri that there were some foreign guests still waiting to be spoken to.

So far, Victor had always tolerated the relationship between Otabek and his son, obviously believing it to be the antics of teenage boys.

But now, Yuri was twenty-one, and Otabek already close to twenty-four. Their relationship had turned out to be serious in nature, deep and loving.

Who were they, Yuuri thought, to deny them their happiness?

“But who would be king one day, if not Yura?” Victor said quietly. “Who could take the throne when we are gone, my love?”

Yuuri lowered his head and kissed Victor’s hair. “You have so many children, my love. Do you not remember what you once told me? _Each of them my pride and joy. Each of them my hope for the future._ ”

Victor leant back against Yuuri, who wrapped his arms around him and held him in a gentle embrace.

“I did not forget,” Victor sighed. “And I still mean it. But… after teaching Yura for so many years, how could I do such a thing again?”

“You are still young,” Yuuri reminded him. “I am sure that among your children, there is one that will be a worthy successor one day. You just have to keep looking.”

Victor looked up at his husband, reaching up to touch his face. “You knew this would happen,” he said quietly. “Yura and Otabek. You knew it.”

Yuuri smiled softly. “I had a feeling,” he replied, kissing Victor’s forehead. “But he needs to hear it from you, Victor. You are his father. Your approval means more to him that you could possibly imagine.”

Victor bit his lip. “I was… I was not fair to him, just now.”

“No, you were not,” Yuuri agreed. “But if you speak to him, and to Otabek, and assure them of your support, you will be forgiven.”

Victor nodded, leaning further into Yuuri’s touch and closing his eyes. And then, Yuuri began to sing, a soft, gentle tune in Japanese that never failed to soothe him, and to reassure him that he was loved.

And if this was what Yura and Otabek felt for each other, then who was he to deny them?

* * *

 

A few days later, the crown prince came to the council to officially renounce his claim to the throne. Aside, his lover was waiting, watching anxiously with Yuuri at his side as Victor’s son signed the papers and was then embraced by his father.

It had all gone well, in the end, although Victor was still worried about who would replace Yuri as his heir.

But for now, the only thing that mattered was the happiness of his and Galina’s son.

“I wish you everlasting happiness with him,” Victor murmured, kissing Yuri’s forehead.

“Thank you, father,” Yuri whispered, lowering his head in respect. “For everything.”

* * *

 

Just like the wedding of Victor and Yuuri, the wedding of Yuri and Otabek was a quiet affair, held in the Royal Temple surrounded by their families.

Seeing his son so happy, Victor knew that he had done the right thing.

He held Yuuri’s hand tightly in his, intertwining their fingers and squeezing his hand as the young men said their vows, promising to love and cherish each other for the rest of their lives.

Yuuri squeezed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an epilogue following this chapter, and then we're done! It has been a wild ride, and I'm so thankful for every single reader. Thank you for joining me on this journey!


	15. Fifteen: Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

 

Every year, the Princess Rozalina Museum of National History invited students of the Royal University to explore the archives.

The curator loved these annual visits. Unlike other visitors to the museum, these students were on their way to becoming experts. Students of history, literature, philosophy, politics. The one thing they had in common was a shared interest in Russia’s past, a shared passion for the most intense time of their monarchy, and a shared hunger to get to the core of it all, deeper than the pages of Wikipedia on their phones.

For here, deep down in the archives, they kept the things that not everyone got to see. Here, they kept the most private possessions of their kings and queens that were gone.

The student group standing before the curator consisted of roughly a dozen students, all of them eagerly waiting with their notebooks in their hands. From experience, the curator knew that none of them would write anything down.

“Welcome to the Princess Rozalina museum,” the curator said, clasping her hands. “These are the Royal Archives, and we are very happy to have you with us today. Please keep in mind not to touch anything without gloves, and do not take any pictures. Alright?”

The students nodded, eager to begin.

“Alright, then let’s go,” the curator said and led the group into the first room. “We always like to begin here with the toy collection. As you know, this wing of the archive keeps objects of the last 250 years. Most of these toys have belonged to the Royal Family under King Victor the Divine, and to his many children. As you can see, these children enjoyed luxury like no others in the kingdom. Every child received a doll like this upon birth.” The curator gestured at a small doll in a glass box. “Most toys were shared, except for these dolls. This one here belonged to the very Princess Rozalina the museum is named after. As you all know, Victor the Divine founded this archive and had the whole area named after his daughter. She died when she was six years old. It is said that this doll sat on her grave for at least forty years.”

The students nodded eagerly, gathering around the glass box to take a closer look at the toy.

“She died of pneumonia, right?”

“Most likely,” the curator nodded. “Pneumonia, fever, and all these things were incredibly dangerous back then, especially to children. We know little about this time in the king’s life except what his son has written in his diary a few years later. But judging by the grave given to her, ornamented in gold and silver, we can be sure that she was indeed his favourite daughter, and that he mourned her loss just as much as he mourned the death of his queen.”

The students nodded solemnly.

“But he was happy again later,” someone remarked. “With his new consort.”

“Precisely,” the curator confirmed. “We will get to that soon. But first, let me show you the collection of drawings that managed to survive to this day.”

She took the students to the other side of the room where drawings of children were displayed, showing everyday scenes, animals, flowers, just the usual drawings of little children. But there, a little separately…

“These are-“

“Indeed,” the curator said with a chuckle. “The famous nude drawings of a Siamese man. Widely believed to show Phichit Chulanont, closest friend of the consort and husband of Lord Christophe Giacometti. We highly suspect him to be the creator of these drawings.”

“I only ever saw them on Wikipedia,” a student said and let out a whistle. “But damn. That eye for detail.”

“There are no such drawings of the king?” A young woman asked hopefully, leaning forward to study the drawing properly.

The curator shook her head. “No, there are only a handful of personal sketches by his consort, but limited to his face. But I understand where you are coming from,” she added, and the girls giggled. The curator clasped her hands. “Alright. Let’s continue! There is still so much left to see.”

And so, the students followed her obediently, listening attentively to everything she said as she presented to them the personal belongings of King Victor and his consort Yuuri that had been preserved to this day; from hair combs, hand mirrors, and shawls worn in winter to personal pens and prayer books, still containing handwritten notes by the king himself.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” A woman whispered to her friend. “To see all the things they touched. I mean, this hairbrush touched the famous silver hair of the king!”

“I think I’m going to die!” Her friend whispered back excitedly. “This is so cool!”

“And here we have the collection of personal photographs,” the curator said and led them over to a large glass box where countless pictures had been carefully put next to each other, illuminated lightly by the lamps above. “King Victor was in his late thirties when he purchased two cameras, one for the government, one for private use. We know from the diary of the Lady Mila that he was quite passionate about it, and liked to take pictures of his family. Especially of his husband.” She opened the glass box, put on a pair of gloves, and reached inside to take out one of the smaller pictures. “This is believed to be the first of them. This was taken in their private bedchamber.”

The students gasped and gathered around the picture, admiring the king’s first attempt of a photograph. It showed Prince Yuuri in casual attire, standing next to the mirror, his hands clasped behind his back, looking into the camera as if he were not sure what to think about all this.

“He really was cute,” a young man murmured. “That haircut is becoming fashionable these days again.”

“And here,” the curator put the picture back and took out the next one, “we have a picture of Prince Yuri and his husband Otabek as teenagers. Aged fifteen and eighteen, we believe. When they were still roughly the same height.”

“And then the prince grew like a meter within a month,” someone said, and everyone laughed. The difference in height between the two was still talked about today.

“Was he still the crown prince then?” Someone asked.

The curator nodded. “Prince Yuri renounced his claim to the throne when he was twenty-one. There are some speculations to why exactly he renounced it. The diary of his brother is not very precise about that. But we assume that it was because he wished to be married to his husband alone. Becoming king would have required producing an heir, and that was most likely out of the question for him.”

“The king must have been anything but happy,” a woman said.

The curator nodded. “Oh, he was furious, according to Prince Yuuri’s diary.”

“But I can kind of understand why?” Someone said. “I mean, you teach your kid everything it needs to know for twenty years and then they go, eh, I’d rather not.”

“But Prince Yuri was in love,” someone else gave back. “He gave everything up for love.”

“Pathetic, if you ask me.”

“Pathetic?!”

“There, there,” the curator laughed and raised her hand. “The truth is that we will never know. But what we know is that their relationship remained harmonious until the death of the king many years later. And it cannot be questioned that this is also the doing of his consort.”

“Seems like Prince Yuuri only had to whistle,” a young man said, earning a round of chuckles from his fellow students.

“What is this picture, Madam?” A young woman asked, pointing at the one in the upper right corner.

The curator followed her gesture with her eyes and smiled. Carefully, she picked up the photograph and presented it to the students. “This, everyone, is one of the only pictures of King Victor taken by Prince Yuuri that show him in private.”

The students gasped and gathered around the curator, trying to catch a better glimpse. It was a simple picture, and if one did not know what the king looked like, they would have thought it to be a picture of an ordinary man.

It showed the king in a dressing gown, sitting on a sofa by the window with his dog at his side. One hand rested on top of the dog’s head, giving affectionate scratches. He had his head turned towards the camera, looking fondly at the man behind it.

“Oh my god, he was so in love,” a girl sighed dreamily.

“Now I know why their story has inspired so many films and plays and everything,” her friend murmured. “This is so romantic.”

The curator smiled knowingly. “Their relationship was highly unusual for their time, and it sparked many discussions in both Russia and Japan. But their marriage also strengthened the bond between our nations and led the kingdom to prosperity. Sadly, there is little written about their personal relationship. Prince Yuuri had a diary, but as you all know, it is held in a rather neutral tone. Aside from calling the king ‘my Victor’,” she added softly.

“But what about the ambiguous Japanese parts of the diary?” A student asked, raising his hand. “Some argue that they sound like he was unhappy.”

“These parts reflect Prince Yuuri’s Japanese upbringing. A Russian prince would have written about the things you are referring to with more passion. For Prince Yuuri, however, it was normal to write in a rather neutral tone even about joyous events, like the adoption of Princess Hiroko.”

“The king didn’t have a diary, right?” A girl asked. “Not even in his later years?”

“Sadly, he never wrote one,” the curator said. “That is why we are very much in the dark about his personal life after the death of his consort. From that point on, we have to rely on the diary of Prince Adrian, who later became king instead of Prince Yuri, as you all know.”

“But King Adrian wrote almost nothing about him,” someone said. “Only what everyone else knows. That two weeks after the funeral, he gave the crown to his son, travelled to the monastery in the north, and died there on the first night in his sleep.”

The curator clasped her hands. It was always the same, she thought, students wanting to know all the facts and figures, but being unable to see the people, the humanity, behind historical personalities.

“King Adrian protected his father by writing little, and vague things about him at this time,” she explained and walked over to the showcase where they kept the famous diary of the king, opened on the very first page that contained the famous words that everyone in Russia knew. “But later, when he put his memoirs together, he wrote more. He knew that one day, people would read about them. But at this time, writing about the king as if he were an ordinary person was impossible.”

“The shift is clear in the diary,” a girl said, pulling out her well-read copy of King Adrian’s diary and flipping through the pages until she found what she had been looking for. “Here: ‘I think that my father did not plan to lose his will to live, but when Yuuri died, he died with him. For the few days that were the rest of his life, he seemed like nothing more but a hollow shell of his former self, able to function when needed, but his heart gone. When we buried Yuuri, we buried my father’s heart with him. I hope that he was able to find absolution when he made it to the monastery, that he was able to speak to someone before he went to his eternal sleep. I have never hated the crown more than during this time, for it felt as if it had taken not only one, but two fathers from me in a vey short time. And I doubt sincerely, and so does my brother Yura, that no one ever truly understood how much they loved one another’.”

The girl stopped reading, looking back at the curator. A few of her fellow students were discretely wiping away small tears after her emotional reading.

“King Adrian’s first diary is much more formal than the second,” the curator said. “Naturally, the second is the most beloved, for it shows us what these people were. Not just names with facts and figures attached to them – but actual human beings that knew love, pain, joy, and sadness.”

The students nodded solemnly at that, considerably quieter for the rest of the tour.

Later, as the curator sat in her office, she could not help but pick up her own copy of the beloved diary of King Adrian the Gracious. Just like the copy of the student, hers was well-read as well, some pages torn on the edges, but the curator would not have traded this copy for a new one for all the money in the world. She flipped through the pages, easily finding her favourite part of it.

_I don’t think my father was ever aware of how often I watched him secretly. There was a fascination to it, to see him when he thought to be alone. His face would appear at least ten years older when he worried, and twenty years younger when he was overjoyed. There would be sadness in it when he felt the shadows of his past creeping in, and happiness when he looked at the picture of his husband. That way, I got to see more of him than my siblings – perhaps with the exception of my sister Rozalina, for she was his pride, his joy, and his comfort before he had had Yuuri._

_But I am fairly sure that Yuuri knew that I was watching. He never told my father about it, but I often found him looking right at where I stood behind a curtain as a child. And of course there were the little treats he accidentally dropped nearby, and the amusement on his face when he later caught me with my face smeared with chocolate. Watching them together, however, was a rare treat. But what I got to see were declarations of love, trust, and affection so deep that I could not help but hunger for someone to share a connection with that went as deep as theirs._

The curator smiled to herself, carefully closing the book, and held it almost prayerfully in her hands.

It would forever remain a mystery to them, she thought, but perhaps they were not meant to know all of the things that had happened so many years ago, just a few kilometres away, in the Royal Palace. Where a king and a teacher had fallen in love against all odds, where tragedy had coexisted alongside love and peace, and where Russia had been redefined. Not just politically, but philosophically, spiritually, and socially.

Of course, the curator would have loved to know more. Oh, the things they would have been able to uncover, the stories they would have been able to tell.

But perhaps, it was good as it was. That all they knew about King Victor, and his consort Yuuri was right there, in this small book that everyone knew, all of it told through the eyes of a king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments, kudos, messages - for everything.   
> Writing this story has been an absolute pleasure.
> 
> If you like, join me for my other stories:
> 
> 1\. Whispers of the Days that Passed (1920s "Rebecca" AU, ongoing, updated regularly)  
> 2\. A Rip in Time (co-authored with the amazing MissMarquin, a Star Trek AU)


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